And why not a rose?
Soft petal, sweet scent
opening daily, dropping petals.
Green next to red
reaching
hidden center
unfurling.

Some sharpness:
this love is not a weapon
is not a mirror
is not a fruit
is not a dried leaf crackling.

We entwine but grow separately.
We remind each other of blossoming’s sweet promises.
We entangle with vivid writhing, engaged,
and the thread connecting us is invisible and chaotic,
its origin unseen,
its length unknowable,
its end hidden.

Like rocks embedded in clay
we are separated by texture,
somehow together.
We are temporary:
we long for permanence,
we long for a knowing gesture,
we long to be known,
we long to be knowable.

Buds closed tightly
but the sunlight encourages us
to open
to be open
to be opened.

We long to be grounded.
We long to be the earth,
and someday we will return
seeds and dead leaves
petals gone brittle
dust of rocks worn by rain
thorns forgotten.

Today a rose:
someday a rosebush,
someday a rose garden,
someday a garden.

We share what makes us
what sustains us
what allows us to grow.

Still we bloom on different schedules
more or less sand.

And why not a rose?
And why not a garden?

Author's Note: Retreat this weekend with the formation group, visited my tree, looking forward to spring. Favorite quote of the weekend: "...anything or anyone/that does not bring you alive/is too small for you." (David Whyte, "Sweet Darkness")