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.
"Taken"
First, you must let your heart
be broken open
in a way you have never
felt before,
cannot imagine.
You will
not know if what you are
feeling
is anguish or joy,
something predestined
or merely old wounds
flowing once more,
reminders of all that is
unfinished in your life.
Something will flood into
your chest
like air sweetened by
desert honeysuckle,
love that is too
strong.
You will stand there,
very still,
not seeing what this is.
Later, you will not remember
any of this
until the next time
when you will say,
yes, yes, I have known this before,
it has come again,
just as your eyes fold under
once more.
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