somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond br any experience,your eyes have their silence: br in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me, br or which i cannot touch because they are too near br br your slightest look will easily unclose me br though i have closed myself as fingers, br you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens br (touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose br br or if your wish be to close me, i and br my life will shut very beautifully ,suddenly, br as when the heart of this flower imagines br the snow carefully everywhere descending; br nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals br the power of your intense fragility:whose texture br compels me with the color of its countries, br rendering death and forever with each breathing br br (i do not know what it is about you that closes br and opens;only something in me understands br the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses) br nobody,not even the rain,has such small handsbr br E. E.