Sisters

Sisters - Heaviness and Tenderness- you look the same.
       Wasps and bees both suck the heavy rose.
       Man dies, and the hot sand cools again.
       Carried off on a black stretcher, yesterday’s sun goes.

       Oh, honeycombs’ heaviness, nets’ tenderness,
       it’s easier to lift a stone than to say your name!
       I have one purpose left, a golden purpose,
       how, from time’s weight, to free myself again.

       I drink the turbid air like a dark water.
       The rose was earth; time, ploughed from underneath.
       Woven, the heavy, tender roses, in a slow vortex,
       the roses, heaviness and tenderness, in a double-wreath.