Friday, November 05, 2004

somewhere i have never travelled

somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
any experience, your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look will easily unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully, mysteriously) her first rose

or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens; only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands

From Complete Poems: 1904-1962 by E. E. Cummings, edited by George J. Firmage

Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for uplifting me and encouraging me. Thank you for reminding me that there's someone else who is there, and going through what I am.

The voice of your collective eyes, is deeper than all roses.

I am not alone. Thank you for helping me through a very depressing very rough patch.


At 1:31 AM, Blogger persephone said...

Sugarblossom, this is my very, very favorite poem.

Makes me feel like I know you a little already. :)


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