I found my heart in the heart of the rose today,
it had fell to the floor of the patio.
I pealed its petals in search for its chore, to discover that it was made up with 5 thin sepals, the guardians of the seeds.
The chore of the rose rests in my shaky hand,
I observe my heart with wonder:
its naked rawness, its rhythmic vessels looking for a balance,
its beat, trembling with rough, painful and cheerful raw life.
The search for a certain kind of unaffected nakedness.
The feel of "being" , is the one of “becoming”,