I've held within my clumsy grasp,
by Robert Kane
caressed as air turned velvet red,
fleeting blooms which time forgot,
taken selfish from their beds.
Through earthly gardens have I passed,
and in passing marvelled quite,
at nature's knack for breaking hearts,
and blackening the endless nights.
I oft reflect upon those blooms,
imperfect formed by memory,
which caught my eye in passing once,
and briefly took my breath away.
Though one such bare can I recall,
within my palm no face unfolds,
her beauty lay as folded air,
beyond sight's witness to behold.