Not Even the Rain Tobias Picker

Somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond
Any experience,your eyes have their silence:
In your most frail gesture are things which enclose me
Or which i cannot touch because they are too near

Your slightest look easily will unclose me
Though i have closed myself as fingers
You open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose

Or if your wish be to close me,i and
My life will shut very beautifully,suddenly
As when the heart of this flower imagines
The snow carefully everywhere descending;

Nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
The power of your intense fragility:whose texture
Compels me with the colour of its countries
Rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that
Closes and opens;only something in me understands
The voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
Nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands