The First Rose
When they carry you,
learning, all is newness
and you go to be
caught up in it,
the tumbling, whirling bells,
o, the bells
caught me
in waking where it was,
seeing the small sea.
I had always thought:
this so-small sea,
and in it were my hope
and chance to find,
reasons,
where spring water
moves away
like honey,
to the land.
I see now, your eyes
bearing down.
If there never was
a first rose,
sweet bells, o say
goodbye.
3/5 '11
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