Kirkby Rose / Osaka Rose

Through a crack in the concrete
My rose springs, savage and young.
A neat breaker of hair surfs by her face,
Her teeth are cucumber rind and cool.
She is proof enough of miracles,
But through one yellow summer
She clung and grew to me,
As if I was the wonder.
But I light candles to her,
Pray to her photo every night,
Confess to the silence she leaves,
Longing to drink her wine,
Taste her bread.

From ground warmed by the rising sun
My rose springs, untamed and young.
A black silk veil of hair edges her cheek,
Her lips are cherry blossom, gentle.
She is proof enough of miracles,
But through no more than one summer
Would she cling and grow to me,
As if I was the wonder?
But I light incense to her,
Pray to her photo every night,
Meditate in the silence she has left,
Longing to touch the hem of her robe,
Dry her feet with my hair.