Heart's Home

Whales slid across the sky.
The eaves wept, mourning another day's death while the rain fell.
Is this love? Your heart, my heart, coeur d'abri.

Five fins each, with heapings of cloudy blubber that glinted with the stars.
Footsteps in the gardens brimmed over with muddy water.
Does it rain where you think, where you feel, coeur d'abri?

Their eyes were open, their mouths gaping for the air kelp.
Wind stirred the hedges and left them dripping, like firm hands wringing soaked rags.
I too, slide across your soul, devouring it bit by bit, coeur d'abri.

The great sky's currents twist them about like rotisserie meats, fins spinning in glee.
The earth became the ocean, and the storm became the sea.
I am unlike the earth, who refuses its water like a regretful glutton, coeur d'abri.

When the moon dims, all that can be seen is holes in the sky, sliding past fields of stars.
There were men who dreamed; until cities slumbered on mirrored waters, dreaming of mountains.
I am unlike the earth, for my heart can take it all, coeur d'abri.

When the sun rose, the whales looked down and saw reflections of brethren in the shining water.
The waters shook, and the cities that slumbered now writhed in somnambulance.
Where you go, the earth trembles, seeking to be whole in its faults, coeur d'abri.

The whales soared no longer, and fled from the stars.
The cities of dreams dwindled to burning flotsam.
Smoke rose, until the fires sank and smoldered in the cold tides. The world, coeur d'abri, was still.