The Rose of Perplexity



I cannot face

the face of being the rose

of summer in summer


‘The astonishing gift perplexes us about what offers it, or who.’ (Desmond G&B 18)

The unbearable beauty of the summer rose awakens the unanswerable question:  who bestows the beauty of this hour?

To name being as the giver may only satisfy the need to complete a sentence; yet being is a resourceful term, and this is a question of source, of origin.

Does being have a face– that is not your’s? The question may be blocked by a habit of refusing the question, and it’s no mystery why this habit is hard to shake. The mind would rather not go there.  That would be to become ‘mindful’ and at what cost of delay and protracted reflection, perhaps only resolved by writing a poem.

The question must not be erased by the answer.


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