A speaker recounts locking a dark-skinned woman in a completely bare room, bolting the door to prevent any trickery. When he draws the bolt, she stands not naked but embowered in impossible vegetation—overripe fruits, lavish flowers. He can’t explain it; he only knows he saw it. The second stanza shifts to a personal address: his life was once just as blank, but he let someone in without any protective walls. Just as mysteriously, that barren space bursts into bloom and even birdsong, all brought by the beloved.
The mood is caught between stunned disbelief and joyful surrender. Something elemental and irrational floods the empty room of existence with color and life, and the speaker clings to the only proof he has—the sheer force of his feeling.