To celebrate our single summer of grace,
you clipped a white rose while you walked
and put it on the table in a vase.
There it sat between us while we talked.
Together we gazed out through the glass doors
into the arbor, watching the play of light,
dreaming of realities unseen. In our metaphors
we found another way to school our sight.
And for the moment made perfect company,
conjecturing imponderables, a play of mind
which like a blossom has its time to be.
In such a way all beauty is divined.
Petals have a shape that rinses the sight
and the soul is in love with the color white.