I lost my heart eons ago, but I

only just realized it was gone.

Where should I start looking?

Perhaps I’ll start up in the sky,

amidst billowing clouds,

between curious winds blowing dawn

into daytime, in the footprints

of airplanes. That’s not where

my heart is hiding.

Maybe I’ll check the oceans next.

It’s hard to breathe down there,

but maybe my heart doesn’t want to be found.

I disturb fish, darting like fireflies

in the dark. Beyond my feeble reach,

a chuckle from the deep: the kraken.

How I hope that my heart hasn’t drowned.

Where next? Oh, I want

my heart back where it belongs!

It is not in the desert, where the songs

of the coyote tear open the night.

My heart is not in the mountains

or the stars, or in the city — on

the speckled backs of pigeons,

or in the last light

on at home before everyone sleeps.

Then I thought to look for you.

You are farther away than I ever knew.

You left when I turned

to look for something — I don’t

remember what it was. A letter,

maybe, or a safety pin.

I didn’t know you were searching

for your runaway heart, too.

Did you accidentally pack

my heart in your suitcase?

You were in such a hurry…

probably you didn’t even notice.

All the same, I’d like it back,

please. You know I’ll just worry

and pace trails in the ash

and sing roses with thorns

until my heart is with me,

tucked behind my ribs

where it’s supposed to be.