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My Heart is a Garbage Pile

My heart is a garbage pile of love.

Indiscriminate haphazard reeking.

Everywhere my eyes land has me.

A no mans land of lost causes,

and piles of good intentions and their ruins

and the humiliations that pave me into my own road,

and all the unrequited loves that save me

and the ache I hallow

and unfollowed intuitions that still somehow redeem everything

and all things unprotected and irreconcilable

that soften and unclench and ratify the invulnerable

and how the wind touched my face this morning

and pretended not to notice

and old loves

and endless loves

and grand disappointments

and friends that make the world home,

my children and my parents on all sides of the veil

and the old old tree on the intercoastal fenced in by cement

and her acorns that will never sprout

and we visit and I kiss her and she tells me and we cry

and that one legged bird this morning that kept returning

and the sea and the sky

and Mother streaming everything home

and the lonely and the lady in the supermarket

and an old friend who wanted to take his life and another

and all the things I do not meet that wait and trust

and my teachers and their feet and yours

and the marshlands and the sand this morning

and all the things the water knows

and the planet sprouting God in our hearts because it’s just time

and its hopeless but you’re it

and every woman everywhere

and every girl

and the refugees at our boarders

and on and on

and I can’t take it all this love

and it breaks me

and I wail in public places

and I will never stop.

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