MY HEART                                                                                                        back to writings

if my heart were a bird,
or, if it could
by itself fly – 

what perch would it
find, and
how high? 

my heart wanders –
afraid only of its
limits. 

it sits in a coffee shop
and wonders why it is not
fragile. 

it is impatient
with the weight
of stories, 

sometimes. sometimes,
it would rather watch
TV. 

if my heart had hands,
it could not count
its failures. 

sometimes my heart
looks up and overflows
into the daily world. 

sometimes it burrows
into the darkness
for relief. 

my heart has
promised to stay
as long as I do. 

my mind wonders:
if we follow the heart,
what then?