Living Still Life (La résurrection des natures mortes)

One day, a woman.

I would like it to be a woman.

Not too young, not too old,

too beautiful or too ugly.

A pale woman,

with long soft arms,

and delicate joints,

and fine light hair.

She fixes her hair, eyes half closed,

just like normal.

She pulls her hair slowly, concentrating.

And then, she smiles.

I'd like to be able to make her smile.

Gently,

almost nothing,

to see it again,

for the last time.

The dead rabbit.

The dog in bloom.

The drowned horse.