A Cargo of Green Hearts
the thing is: you must stop defining
yourself by what you have lost,
stop waiting here for the air to
explode. tonight sweet Night
readies her tender meal of
absentmindedness for you
the trees outside sigh, grown
weary of hosting your jackleg
crucifixes. quit struggling upriver
into smaller and smaller streams
that don't fit you. be swept down
into the sea where your dreams
have room to get lost, wave-tumbled,
ravaged and salt-tongued until
you cough up another language
and your footprints are extinguished
like tired stars. whoever the whale
spits out will be given a new name.
whoever gets lost in the mountains
will return in the company of tigers.
whoever drops his burden of stone
in the torrent spites his exhaustion
into the shape of a bridge.
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