History of the Heart

Falling deeply
into the history of the heart
I find the dark door
of the forbidden city
where I used to live.

Heat rises up
from a hidden place
in this body
as I consider
the way your face
relaxes and your eyes
land gently on my mouth.

You want nothing more
than to touch this place
with your lips
like it was the first time,
like it is the only chance you have
to tell me about the last time
you loved the soul hiding
inside this new body.

Simple gesture.
Pull your chair
close to me, in front of me
so our knees touch,
so you can pull me close
and kiss me sweetly.

The keys clatter
in my silent hands
as I disappear
like ashes scattered
into the open prairie
after the wildfire
cleansed the earth.

I am breathless
and glowing like a full moon night
illuminating the trees
as if it were midday.

The river sparkles
on the edge of this constant longing
for a time when there will be no secrets,
straw turned to gold by one right touch
that becomes the feast of flesh
and you will find me dancing
in the center of my life.

Until that day of celebration
I’ll slumber underground
like the face of a yellow daffodil
waiting for the voice of spring
to call out her greeting,
sweeping the steps of sin
and all signs of that other death.