This is the day and the year of the rose.
The whole garden is opening with laughter.
Iris whispering to cypress.
The rose is the joy of meeting someone.
The rose is a world imagination
cannot imagine, a messenger
from the orchard where the soul lives.
A small seed that points
to the great rose tree.
Hold its hand and walk like a child.
A rose is what grows from the work
the prophets do, full moon, new moon.
Accept the invitation spring extends,
four birds flying toward a master.
A rose is all these and the silence
that closes and sits in the shade, a bud.
