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In nature’s

It’s not exactly a heart—
It’s too crude and jagged,
all white crystal unaligned,
too alien, too fraught, too smart

It throbs in an asymmetrical
beat, like an imaginary nostalgia
for a life we never led
as capricious as romance,

allusive, mercurial, everywhere
an intruder doggedly devoted to
those who devoted themselves to me,
stark barks within vibrant, random trees

Upon my return from the war
I was a mess; hit the floor with every
noise, the slightest blare, freakish
disturbances in the air

Alterations of daylight and dark,
bitter lithe quadrants, a flight of
clouds from scorned forlorn states
to aggressive, imaginary shapes

She often gives to the poor
Why couldn’t I hear it before?
We organized time differently
she and I and wandered self-taught

wonderfully and never did
a thing we didn’t want like
gawkers at a funny parade who
laugh together and play

Our powers of visual memory
made the tawny, ruined buildings seem
weathered and old in stark contrast
to nature’s vibrant, aggressive springs

Deeply hidden in our mental
machinery, an integral piece
not exactly a heart—too
allusive, too mercurial, too smart

throbs in an asymmetrical beat
like alterations of daylight and dark
wonderfully self-taught, fleet and
sprung in nature’s aggressive springs

-May 4, 2019-