Sunday, May 3, 2009

The Smallest Drops Remind Me of This Poem



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 will easily unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skillfully, 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

e. e. cummings

3 comments:

Amy said...

I like this poem. It's pretty. The picture is pretty. The rain, well, enough of the rain for now.

Roben-Marie said...

Thanks so much for sharing this! Love the photo, too!

ginny said...

I love ee cummings.
Great choice of poem