Only slowly
opens the Rose
Its petals unfold all imperceptibly
Only by a steady
keeping on
Does the
invisible beauty work its wounding
Undoing all my
shallows and more and more
As I press on
and yield not to the littler press
But exercise
that gift which is within me
Only forcefully
springs the shoot
Yet its
substance pierces through all soothed
Only by a
persistent surrendering
Does the gentle
upsurging work within me
Calming all my
troubled points over and over
That they come
through kind and unscathed
In the daily
rising that I can not see rising
Only
unthinkingly babbles the baby
Yet her voice
emerges all of a strong desire
Only by a doing
I didn’t think in
Did life’s
simplest gift work within me
Turning my
unknowings into knowing
Transforming all
my edged lines into sense
Till Another’s
intelligence appeared
Only bravely fledge the birds
Yet their
feathers develop, all of a course
Only by faith that time will bring forth life
Does time’s own bravery work within me
Making of all my flights of fancy, messages:
And my firstling
airy things, surpassed
Till lit at last, my former complex threads decode
Only . . . Only
. . . and the absolutes of paradox
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