Ischemic Heart

“For myself, those things that have died, in dying, entered my own heart.” Rainer Maria Rilke

In this wash of gray
I can feel a certain vascular
organ electrifying itself-
romanticizing the feeling of
emptiness, a death in which
newness is unsure.
This tenderness boils
and filters out through my
words; words that never
seem to carry the meaning
I intend; words that hollow
themselves out upon air touch,
upon explanation of the very
content they are trying to define.
I watch them, floating out
on streams of breath, and feel
betrayed.

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