The Four Chambered Heart

Now, where are the words
The heart needs?
Sort through its four chambers
To mix blood for the body to keep moving,
If not forward,
Any motion is better than none.

From chamber to chamber
Soft walls,
Trim dangles,
Ceiling cracked,
Windows frosted with dust.
These images attract hope.

Like the frail old man who hobbles around
Believing he will golf again… someday.
We doubt. He doesn’t.
That matters.
The chambers still pulse,
Hear them hum.

A voice outside says,
“You are not alone,
Inside: something bigger.”
A window tap invites,
“Come out and play,
You are not alone.”

Buckets of blood
From each chamber
Like an Aztec
Bled out
Sacrificing
What little remained of the soft vessel.

Hope,
The old man still clings,
“Let’s go.”

Image: Girl at Window, Salvador Dali

Notice Me, Little Things

“Notice me,”
Little things seem to say.
“Fit me,
Somewhere.”

“You will.” I think in whisper.

Tiny fragments of sea shells
Once perfect for collectors
Now inhabit the sand
Molded by the Sea
Into new perfection for this moment.
Not needing to be picked and paraded
Alongside perfect conches
Just needing to be seen
Known
For a moment.
They are smooth
With purple rings showing
That were underneath the surface
Making the structure strong,
Giving endurance,
Now they are on the surface
Stating their presence to this viewer.

I know where you will fit:
Beside me
On the sand
Among friends ground down
Not to nothing
But into earth
That holds us up.

“You do,” I whisper.