somewhere i have never travelled

somewhere i have never travelled,
gladly beyond any experience,
your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture
are things
which enclose me, or
which i cannot touch because they are too near your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed
myself as fingers,
you open always petal
by petal myself
as Spring opens (touching
skilfully, mysteriously) her first rose
or if your wish be to close me,
i and my life will shut
very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of
this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere
descending;
nothing which we are to perceive
in this world equals
the power of your intense
fragility:
whose texture compels
me with the colour
of its countries, rendering
death and forever with each breathing
(i do not know what it
is about you that closes and opens; only something in me understands the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses
nobody, not even the
rain, has such small hands .