Here, where I am
filled to the last edges
with happiness, there is terror, too.

I am overwhelmed
to discover that owl and rose
are part of one, living process
and feel this heart overflow
along all the ways I have walked
with both these figures.

I accept, I accept!

I cry, as if it mattered,
as if any of this required
my small acceptance,
yet still I give it
as the only impulse
that does not shirk
the difference between
golden petal and silent feather,
thereby arriving
at the singularity of each
without thinking I know either.