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 easily will 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