“A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.”
— William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet (Act II, Scene II)
Velvet petals, moving as the sea —
waves rising above earth and thorn —
releasing a fragrance that swoons above the stars,
through rib and root, curling around the heart,
resting in the soul’s hollow.
Well, in the garden, sitting at the table, we were drawing—Gabriel held a pencil—and within seconds, without hesitation, without thought, he drew this flower.
Before me, a spirit of Picasso. I don’t know where his path will go. Though what joy, to watch his petals unfold.
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