you are more beautiful
than the ripe red amaryllis
placed before me,
the flaming miracle
standing here
slop ing here
wi th red arrogance
proclaiming, ‘there is none
wi th five
flowers like me’
‘there is none
there is none’
who will boast
its’ magnificent
manner?
nobody knows how long
the flowers will
continue.
who would want to know?
this must be its hiddenness,
this must be unspeakable.