somewhere i have never traveled

somewhere i have never traveled, gladly beyond any experience, your eyes have their silence:in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me, or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me though i have closed myself as fingers,you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens (touching skilfully, mysteriously) her first rose
or if your wish be to close me, i and my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,as when the heart of this flower imaginesthe snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals the power of your intense fragility: whose texturecompels me with the color of its countries, rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes and opens; only something in me understandsthe voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses) nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands

-e.e. cummings-