To find me
over the crisscross places
without losing center.
One delicate hiding
meant for its own
private witness.
We don’t all want to be hung
on the beauty mantle
nor have the possession
that something lovely seen,
be wanted for all-time.
My bloom my bloom—
blush mercy of years—
is the answer
that comes after the question
has buried itself
in the asking.
Some have tried
but they could not
break open
the seed.