the liquid in the petals feels the pull
and turns
a thoughtful wandering
the call to its core distant
half heard
like bells across many hills
or voices across traffic
they begin
a quiet molecule migration
and the petals close
relaxing from their urgent reach
feeling their own breath
enclosing their own scent
inward and inward
petals meet petals
in handclasp that reprises bud
though there’s enough world inside
they don’t align precisely
don’t seal
dew of day condenses and falls inward
like communion
or swallowed tears
the cloister darkens
petals press together
inward and inward
seeking internal support.
©Wendy Mulhern
July 29, 2011