The velvety skin
of each fragrant petal
curls back
then leans as if
longing to kiss the sun
warming the tender
flesh moistened
in the morning’s dew.

Only NOW have
I begun to grasp
the significance of
the rose’s intricate
dance of blossoming.

In younger years
when I held this flower,
I believed I KNEW,
I understood
its mastery.

Glancing back,
it was my self-made
mastery I beheld.
No…this was NOT at all
bad.  It was my

My coming to be—
I see now how I
unfolded the petals
pushing the process of ripening—
thinking ‘this’ was the plan
I was following.
I tried or hoped (THIS plan)
was ordained by ‘something’
higher than myself.

Deep within,
I watered, tended—
pursued ‘that’ which
would ordain the trail
I chose to walk.

This present moment
I am learning how to hold the
rose…differently than before.

I know where to place my
hands so as not to get
pierced by thorns.

Often times I reach
attempting to take back
what “I” know…
A subtle jab and I begin
to bleed.

I can still choose my
path as it unfolds…
but, the garden of life
has surrounded me with
the most exquisite flowers
which slowly are beginning
to fade.

I watch—
their elegance in aging
captures my breath.
They seem to know an
unfolding that is timeless.

The sweet succulence
they have given to life

as their dance
draws nearer to completion (HERE in this NOW).

No longer soft to the touch,
there is a willingness to crack,
dissolve— ‘forgiving’ yesterday’s
storms and, without preparing,
THESE flowers
await their descent…

a ripening
a rising

they never had to do
anything but reveal themselves
in the morning’s sun
and the moon’s hidden


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