by Carlos Sirotnikov
If I were prescient I would have not
plucked the thorn off the rose and
let it nibble at my fingers.
If I were a lab rat in a maze I would
have known to remain still instead of
turning lefts and turning rights—
to return back again—
eventually reaching an exit
leading into another maze.
Misfortune wounds me:
if you could see with eyes closed,
then you would know of a beauty
deeper than I have ever known.
