The Brightest Smile

What did I really know or her--only bright light
That filtered from her smile. Calling me

To something holier. I stumbled to her garden,
And found the rose. Each breast long bloomed.

Beautiful. Was there gray that cloaked the sea,
So wet and warm? No the moon

Did not rise before the tree now fallen.
Even the bee's adored her scent.

In the sticky catacombs of sleep. Each day
I see a rose her.

In a wilder garden, surrounded by pansies
Who hardly gives her notice.