The view from here – no one's, but mine –
pours forth an ivory spill of light,
a hillside arch, green cane bent white
in blossom, lacing hoops of vine
gracing the brier, bloom-drooping vine.
Twice in this year, a snowy spray
of falseling roses splashes there:
sweet blobs of white, two kinds of ice,
the summer and its winter pair.
Pale flower with a heated heart
or icing drift in limpid bloom –
twin glows a planet's turn apart.
Pellucid petals splendid sift
through blank in green, through bloodwhite rift.