Still Life

The rose that no longer blooms in the garden,
blooms inside her whole body, among the veins
and organs and the skeleton.
-- Linda Gregg

A hidden blossoming.

Petals flaming beneath the skin.

And a softness pressing,

as delicate as the mouth

of a blind lover.

Each movement,

each quiet gesture

awakens

a rosary in the blood.

Was it desire

which brought her to this moment,

this arrival at source,

or was it merely a need

to be still, to be richly fed

from this fountain

of dark silence.