It is only in framed space that beauty blooms. – Anne Lindbergh

 

The haiku settles for doing, as I read it anyway, one very simple but crucial thing – it tries to put a frame around the moment. It simply frames a moment. Of course, as soon as you put a frame around anything, you set it off, you make it visible, you make it real. – Frederick Buechner

 

A rose bush dances 

in the middle window 

of my office’s far wall. 


Beyond the bush, our back 

door stands wide open. 

My daughter is sitting 

on the back step. 


Blond and fresh, 

she is bent forward 

examining something 

in her hands. 


Her limbs are long, 

her hair is long, 

and the sun spotlights 

her in the door’s dark frame. 


She is engrossed 

in the movements 

of an insect making 

its way between her two hands – 

climbing a finger, then falling 

back to her palm. 


In a flash of motion, she looks up, 

thrusts her hand forward 

and the insect flies away – 

a black blur across the wide 

sunlit space. 


Then, she too flies, 

off the stoop and out 

of the frame and I 

am left here, writing 

the picture of beauty 

I saw through the middle

window of my office’s far wall.


This poem is shared with dVerse poet’s pub

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