I pile upon my palm
earth, and I plant there in
seed; and from a water?rose
as white as porcelain
I pour out water on that earth
in one umbrella'd thin
down?blossoming of moisture,
a domed delicious spray;
and feel, as earth?cold penetrates
my palm, that, far away
I'm pushing open windows that widen into May.

I stretch my hand towards a sun
that hums like a spring hive.
My skin grows warm with fragrance,
the whole world seems to wive
as, on my palm, that seed becomes
breathtakingly alive.