You are clear
O rose, cut in rock,
Hard as the descent of hail.
I could scrape the colour
From the petals
Like spilt dye from a rock.
If I could break you
I could break a tree.
If I could stir
I could break a tree--
I could break you.
O wind, rend open the heat,
Cut apart the heat,
Rend it to tatters.
Fruit cannot drop
Through this thick air--
Fruit cannot fall into heat
That presses up and blunts
The points of pears
And rounds the grapes.
Cut the heat--
Plough through it,
Turning it on either side
Of your path.
