The Flower

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By Robert Creeley

I think I grow tensions

like flowers

in a wood where

nobody goes.

Each wound is perfect,

encloses itself in a tiny

imperceptible blossom,

making pain.

Pain is a flower like that one,

like this one,

like that one,

like this one.

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Thank You To Tikvah Weiner

For Sharing This Poem With Me