The Rose

a labyrinth, as if at its center, god would be there— but at the center, only rose, where rose came from, where rose grows— & us, inside of the lips & lips: the likenesses, the eyes, & the hair, we are born of, fed by, & marry with, only flesh itself, only its passage —out of where?    to where? Then god the mother said to Jim, in a dream, Never mind you, Jim, come rest again on the country porch of my knees.