The Heart Lies To Itself Because It

Waking At Night The Blue River Is Grey At Morning And Evening. There Is Twilight At Dawn And Dusk. I Lie In The Dark Wondering If This Quiet In Me Now Is A Beginning Or An End.

I Would Say Pittsburgh Softly Each Time Before Throwing Him Up. Whisper Pittsburgh With My Mouth Against The Tiny Ear And Throw Him Higher. Pittsburgh And Happiness High Up. The Only Way To Leave Even The Smallest Trace. So That All His Life Her Son Would Feel Gladness Unaccountably When Anyone Spoke Of The Ruined City Of Steel In America. Each Time Almost Remembering Something Maybe Important That Got Lost.

I Dream Of Lost Vocabularies That Might Express Some Of What We No Longer Can.

I Ask Myself What Is The Sound Of Women? What Is The Word For That Still Thing I Have Hunted Inside Them For So Long? Deep Inside The Avalanche Of Joy, The Thing Deeper In The Dark, And Deeper Still In The Bed Where We Are Lost. Deeper, Deeper Down Where A Woman's Heart Is Holding Its Breath, Where Something Very Far Away In That Body Is Becoming Something We Don't Have A Name For.

What We Feel Most Has No Name But Amber, Archers, Cinnamon, Horses And Birds.