36 Constructing a Rose

If we look for a rose by its name, we will not find it; and if we look for its name by analyzing the rose, again we will fail. - Seng-Chao

A young girl begins slowly to dance, her arms outstretched and eyes that turn like a silent wind.

It is the dark of starlight and the old woman sits shrouded by her chilled cloak.  She watches a young dancer who has risen from beyond the mist.  And always the dancer's eyes seem to brush against the old woman's face, even as the smiling girl touches her own tiny wrinkles.

The dance nears an end and the dancer's eyes close.  She turns to wrap herself in a womb of cold linen and her hand gropes like grey-fingered stone for the old woman.

The two walk side by side even as the old woman wakes from her dream asleep among the stars.  She closes her eyes again as yet another old woman wakes from dreaming of an old woman who dreams of herself as a young girl embracing death.  She swoons as still another old woman wakes from dreaming of herself as an old woman who dreams of herself as an old woman who dreams of herself as a young girl embracing death.

And when there seems no end to wakings, the sound of a distant keyboard awakes the poet who begins to embrace the shroud that takes him adrift even as a young girl begins her dance.