one's self come in again,
here as if ever now to once again begin
with beauty's old, old problem never-ending--
lovely rose... So was that story told
in some extraordinary place then, once upon
time so old
it seems an echo now as it again unfolds.
point to me to look out at the world.
I see the white, white petals of this rose
I know such beauty in the world grows cold.
The 2River View, 2_2 (Winter 1998)