Loving with an empty heart,
we hear Her exhale, grotto’s dark,
wrapping breath around the rose,
in bending light, our spirits arc.
A cavern entrance framed in thorns
for spacious shelter from the storm,
where some upon the threshold waver
thirsting, dusty, weather worn.
Her fragrance twists from turning center
a grave for blossoms seduced by winter
listen between the Beloved’s bells,
How Her hollow harkens us to enter.
(At home, our rosy boughs persist,
no wonder winter, anxious, visits
with such a lush and lasting garden,
who for long could ‘er resist?”)
