of the Heart
In the quiet
night, I yearn for a centre,
a calm sunny sweet-spot in the hurricane
where gods are invented to explain the turmoil.
on the city street hurry past, scrape
the edges of my life. Bits of their darkness
clutch at and cling to my disordered clothing.
to time, the pure heartwood of my youth
squeezes out a sweet odour and its clear sap
sparkles and reflects the nearby light.
times, I am the centre where the heart
beats its steady rhythm and lends order
to the hurricane, the wild music of my life.