the full heart

This is the heart

that is full:

that every garden,

every church, every museum,

every tower built by man,

every cobbled stone street,

every cement or gravelled pavement

is your work as it is their maker’s


that every flower, every tree,

every breeze, every spray of sea foam,

every pebble and rock formation

on a mountain or a cave,

every night sky filled with stars,

every shaft of sunlight

that bursts through the gaps

in the clouds

were all meant for you and only you


that every other man and woman

walking the streets or beside you

on the metro or on the bus

is your friend and your family

And my heart is full.


All of this is in me now —

swelling up my body

bursting through the skin

and ripping me apart

so that every piece of me

spreads wider than this world

and I can cover it,

embrace it,

with all the love that has filled me

and continues to fill me

and will not stopping filling me

as long as I keep it open



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