The heart was the last to go
but left a clue where to find her:
a smooth river rock
heavy in my chest.
I knew long before —
an image had relayed the nature of her plea —
a vision of us together
feeling the wind breathe the trees.
For so long I resisted the urge
slapped it away
like a mosquito fat and slow
after gorging on blood.
I was busy.
Then another vision, equally impractical –
an image of myself hiking in a blue silk blouse
a knapsack across my body
filled only with water, paper, pen.
The visions came when tears couldn’t
as the veneer of a confident face
tried to hide
a weighty heart of stone.
When emotions upwelled
I composed reasons to resist –
Can one really hike in silk?
Can one really survive on water, paper, and pen?
Heart and head had been apart so long everything was literal.
Like breadcrumbs on a trail
the visions led to a canyon
where a pool of cool water
sat motionless in the desert sun.
By now insane with loss of heart
I tried to become the beckoning vision,
flew to the desert to scout
a trail in a box canyon.
I took more than water, paper, pen,
wore microfiber instead of silk,
followed the path to its end,
a pond of murky water.
I lingered but heart was not there,
only a small spotted trout.
I laughed at myself
for trying so hard.
Heart is a gentle trickster —
the way she manipulated my desire
for reason and proof,
left me curious and wanting more.
I’ll let you think you’re right,
I heard heart whisper,
when you say,
I just needed a change in scenery.
Though just in case,
I joined a poetry class,
took up painting,
spent more time with friends.
Now she says to us,
Yes, I was quite stressed back then,
as we put on a blue blouse
head out early to breathe the trees.
