i am the flower
that blossoms
in the
minuscule
spaces
in between
the probability of beauty
&
the ​impossibility of
the
​cactus's
prickly
spite.
​​

1087

We miss a Kinsman more
When warranted to see
Than when withheld of Oceans
From possibility

A Furlong than a League
Inflicts a pricklier pain,
Till We, who smiled at Pyrenees—
Of Parishes, complain.