I Cultivate Pink Roses

--para el cruel j.m. simple verses

I cultivate pink roses
in February and September
for that Cruel Disaster
That hardens at my soul
I cultivate pink roses anyhow

I wash up from a surface sun
The petals of the moon sing low.
And bloom a feather fan
The eagle and the doe begin again.

While you paint with white silk.
I have just a drop that mingles
With the blood of your great skill
In the dreams of indigenous girls.

They come as they Soothe me
In Pink Melodisia.
Oh Beauty On Wing Tipped Letter.
I go to your Statue with my Feather