Do we know anything that’s quite like this?
And then, like this: that such a feeling comes
from flower petals touching flower petals?
And this: that one should open like an eyelid,
while underneath lie only further eyelids
shuttered tight, as if through ten-fold sleep
they had to tamp in place some inner vision.
And this above all else: that through these petals,
the light must pass. That from a thousand skies,
they slowly filter out that drop of darkness
in whose fiery glow the tangled bunch
of stamens stirs, and rises up erect.