THE ODOR OF ROSE

By a window
the sweet odor of a rose
drifts through.
But there are no roses here:
only this desert floor,
that coyote and a barren moon.
The silence is immense…
To soak silence up
is the game love seems
set to play:
the soul drops coins and trousers,
makes room in empty fists
while the nuthatch scolds
a passing wren.
In the deepening silence
my heart finds, just beyond breath,
a secret window.
Faster than light
some old man streaks by and is gone!
Then a wild young woman
laughs just inside the window,
twirls a colorful spaghetti of cloth
and is gone.
Now there is nothing here
but that bleak moon
and a lingering faint
odor of rose.

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About Blake Steele

I am a poet, writer, workshop leader, recording artist... half monk, half pirate, passionate for Life and Love to triumph in the world. I'm American by birth, but am living in Sweden for a while: writing, growing, deepening with amazing, open-hearted people, as well as developing Wild Words Creative Writing Classes and Wild Souls Workshops around the world.
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