Metaphysics of Rose

"No other light, no other guide
than the one burning in my heart."
~St. John of the Cross


Between the stamen and the sky,
between the diamond dust-mote
where pollen is conceived
and the bright abyss of
mirageless wonder, you live
in layered crimson distances,
concentric shadows of presence.
I climb the foothills and peaks
of your fragrance
into the lashes and parries
of your wine-dark gaze,
those locks and lips, your
burgundy curves, petaled in air.
Yet only a fractal of myself, dear,
remains entangled in your beauty,
a fingertip swept through
long strands of blackness,
working the essence of cinnamon in.
Just a part of me follows
the musk of your unveiling,
your fall into the midnight
of illumination, swimming
with the motions of a rose
ever outward, ever inward
toward moonseeds of emptiness,
where the greater part of
what I long for is already
who I Am.