the nonsense of the heart

the most tragic
belief is in a remedy, a way to
fix this, make it work and be done.

rushing to extinguish the brush-fire
while the house smolders,

the unexpected slap of cold coffee
when I thought I saw steam.

in the next life, I'll be a mockingbird,
claiming a branch in your willow as home,

echoing your soul's
want on the warmest
of too-short nights,

birdsong mixed with solitude
as you make your way to sweetest grace.