Love Letter 215 I Have Heard About the Heart

You said the heart was reliable

but how would you know?

Your heart is a silver stud on a golden alpaca

and it moves when dragons chase the moon out of the ocean...

I look to mine now and then

and still

I cannot tell the difference

is it my heart?

is it my head?

which of these holds the answers

I wanted to name you the prince... the princess of all creation

but I just can't get out that last vowel

I just can't seem to believe dust to dust is the same thing as eternal

I just can't wrap my heart around

the weeping infidels and rheumatic slaughters

that happen daily

and often

and without miracles to shift them into romance novels

I just wonder

when I am aching

is my heart responsible?

can I mind over matter?

can I wash it all out, as though a storm just passing

can I sit in the zendo

when thousands of others twisted in villages and given to the violence

are broken by the kind of chains

only man has thought of?

where is his heart, I ask you?

if it's so reliable.

today I danced

because the dancing is a way to shake you back into my bloodstream

because ecstasy creeps in when I am busy swirling

because

no heart

no head

is present

only the outstretched opera of my awe toward You

Oh Liberator

You have sent many in Your sandals to share a bit of bread

Your spilling cup of prophets often dead because they carried Your carpet through the world

I wish only to enlist Your favor

for these three meals

-- waking up

-- walking in the world

-- and sharing bread with others on Your carpet, Beloved

reliably

I Love You

Your Beloved