Tangled in the tumultless routine of today,
I’m like to forget where I came from, or you,
Or the moments when I see you and my heart
Soars like the flute’s notes, sent on the breath.
It’s December, but the yellow hibiscus is blooming
And will keep blooming—Seasonless, a mystery.
A model, perhaps: Why shouldn’t we be so?
The crenellated petals twirl to a crimson
Heart—It’s how it shows its love, of course:
Blind to its own beauty, my admiring, shining
In Winter without Awareness. The best that I
Can do is guess at you; but I can glimmer,
I can love, and you need not know.
