Clutched against the snow a militant rose holds onto sleep
And dreams
Still you want to know the ambiguity
Of an unopened bud
Before the wind scatters its dust among her skinny branches
Where did it go,
The secret of the tight-lipped rose
Sitting beside you in the dark of noiseless speculation,
Waiting and watching for something to happen?
You follow every snowflake
With your unwavering gaze,
As each falls and sizzles on her pink satin lids trailing silver
One by one
Like the slow and steady breath of snails or the stream of notes left behind an evening sung.
Gradually buried
The poised and delicate beauty of her sleep is immortalized
Under frozen ash in the gentle palm of winter
Until it opens to catch raindrops on a cloudy day
Revealing petals softly withered, tinged with gray,
And finally awakens, releasing a galaxy of stars in her undisclosed night
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