[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 color
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

ee cummings