Belly of a Star

my practice of compassion


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My heart

How it weeps

Beating, beating, beating

Lapped in smiling sorrow

Standing on the outside

Of closed wooden door


Aged echoes

Pounding, repeating, rewinding

Chipping away

As axe to birch

As birch to splintered reminisce


Cavernous ache awakens

As if never spent

As if never seen

His vivid river breath

Blown into hollowed alcoves


Familiar ebony caves

Imprisoned within

The evergreen, towering timber

Strangled in familiar entanglement

Choking vines of ivy, masked

Some shrouded ecstasy


Dampening moss surrounds

Suffocating coverlet

And I rise

Once more

This delicate songbird

Breast to neck, plucked blue feathers


Beaked holdings of ribboning ivory

Starch-like, in its dawning

We wait

Two begging mosaics

Still blindly pounding


At the other’s door





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