I think it was in between Carver and Dostoevsky
When I understood what Dylan Thomas meant
When light breaks where no sun shines.
I found a heart where no beating had been felt.
Blood rushed in like a flood and my heart raced
Like a childs chasing fireflies around a field.
My mind, its natural foe, tired from the fight,
Sat down on the floor and said “You are right.”
This time, the mind who let inside the open
Window all of her ideas and dreams and fears
Like it had a small racing heart of its own
A counterpart that knew its quiet throb.
She became my heart’s secret agent. So I sat
Down on the floor with all of them, undefeated,
But thankful for the rest. This red beast
Had carved respect by showing up every day.
But it fought dirty. All it did was sing.
A melody washed over me like Ennio Moriconne
On a Mission to show how strong it had grown.
Its return to battle like Thomas wrote.
Where no sea runs, the waters of the heart push
Tides. Bones take on flesh. Soil proves fertile.
Candles become fires they meant to be all along.
This tiny red beast the mind thought its own
Was my heart itself, infiltrating my thoughts
Like the melodies of crickets
Wooing in the morning when, finally,
I awoke and chose to be.
Image: The Book Lover by Frantisek Kupka