0011 Blown Rose Wise

How wise the rose? near the shortest day, the seasons all confused this year even the great globe itself confused by man and on this gusty day a rose throws itself upon the world simultaneously hero, heroine, victim seen calling through the window; if it were a child alone out there you would rush out to save it does the rose know how beautiful it is? or is it wiser than we are, knows more of love? of law? looks tenderly upon man’s need for beauty, frail reassurance of the beauty of our own soul any moment now the wind will tear its weakening petals yet I saw it while it lasted, as if the only rose in the world and before it returned to wherever the souls of roses sigh, laugh, smile, return to eternal Rose it wrote this poem in – to it – an unfamiliar language that tried to translate its beauty into me wiser, in some way, than I