If there were only one
Palest pink porcelain
Blossom
I would fall to my
Knees
Each spring
Cease
All else to gaze at
Such perfection.
Instead,
Profusion’s
Its unfortunate
Predilection,
And after the first
Sublimity I discover
I cease to really see
the Others:
There are hundreds,
but not really
Any.
And I cannot love
them all there are
So many.