“Queen-Anne’s Lace” – William Carlos Williams
Her body is not so white asanemony petals nor so smooth—norso remote a thing. It is a fieldof the wild carrot takingthe field by force; the grassdoes not raise above it.Here is no question of whiteness,white as can be, with a purple moleat the center of each flower.Each flower is a hand’s spanof her whiteness. Whereverhis hand has lain there isa tiny purple blemish. Each partis a blossom under his touchto which the fibres of her beingstem one by one, each to its end,until the whole field is awhite desire, empty, a single stem,a cluster, flower by flower,a pious wish to whiteness gone over—or nothing.