WHITE ROSE

to remember

I wish that you think of me

as if recalling a white rose,

its bloom the mild tint

of a pleasant morning

and the dew’s exhalations

Its form like wild dove’s wings

once closed on a cream-colored heart,

opening, exposed

as these petals, one and another

curved in the soft arc

of slow release

Such supple shape

trembling like dove’s wings

to slip through afternoon air,

sometime clouds sometime rain,

sensing their own

rise and fall, rise and fall

as the earth

recalls each spiralling soul

so like memory

the white gesture

passing as a dove