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.