saw within her eyes,
before they answered, slow entanglements of roses..."
must have dreamt her again-- the roses
have surrendered their spiny axis. I'm impatient
recalling their fragrance as it split through fog
every morning in July. And the dew,
how it settled into each petite crevice of green, swelled
on each damask satin shell. One by one,
a perfect moment carved into dawn.
damascena will return, hewing aurora
with its redolence. My restivity lies
in the withering remembrance
of her skin; impressible petals rising
out of a sun beloved valley, halfway between
Sofia and the Black Sea: loose clusters blooming
at the tips of stems, hidden inside, hips turn red,
yellow, or black during their peak.
the rim of her hip, my lips left a secret,
giving rise to the full double flowers every lover
or gardener praises-- I must have dreamt her again.
2River View, 2_1 (Fall 1997)