where will i go?
will i find home?
and if i wander without a home,
what will i give to the world?

i’m
drinking roses,
longing to be with longing,
not drawing back
from their deep white scent;

longing to let them pour
their wide, hurtful beauty
into me;
to stay, stay in swollen softness;

let the cupped hands of my mind
contain the full, firm, rounded,
layer-upon-layer-petalled
perfumed richness
that pours into my weeping.

open, open,
searching heart,
open wide your mouth:
tongue, taste of longing,
yes, yes, of longing;
drink deep;
scent sweet.

Tia Azulay 20Oct95–22Jan07
Copyright © 1995, 2007 Tia Azulay