Each Beating Heart
Each Beating Heart
in a box on my desk is a picture
elizabeth holding her daughter
she's pulling the christmas ribbon
behind them is a mirror
in the slow crush of moments
I forget what happens next
sorrow is an open door
or a circle drawn in ash
around the life I'd hoped to live
whose future am I hiding
holding back and pushing on
a fluid spiral drifting without motion
each beating heart receives the gift of longing
feverish we tear away the wrapping
the box is always empty
there's a stranger in the mirror
the camera flash dissolves his face
I want so much but give so little
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