The quiet opening of the white flower
in the warm dawn. Pink color fills her cheeks
and the golden hair is like a falling curtain
of light in the tall trees. A branch of green
and a falling leaf, the yellow pollen sits
in the humid air. She is the violet light
reflected by the canal in different shapes
and patterns. The trees are silhouettes of black
and gold, I hear the words she says with air
that's given by the stars. The curving heaven
and the vault of luminaries, I open
my mouth to say her name, the light kisses
my tongue as it comes from the Moon. She is
the quiet opening of the white flower.
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