Perhaps the heart
has phases like the moon
that rolls on many orbits
the changing time of rise and set
a north, then southward track across the sky
it opens forth, revealing all its light
then closes slowly, gradually concealing
turning itself inward
for a quiet time of coming new
Perhaps the heart
moves on a track of years
years of staying open for its loved ones’ early steps
for hopes, for fears
for storms that thrash within
and drag it
through memory’s detritus, stinging new
open to the blooming and the triumphs, too
growing with each love, pushing out its edge.
Perhaps one day the heart decides
their arcs are safe, its work complete
and so relaxes back into itself
no longer surged by every storm
And still the heart moves on a track of days
you may not see its wax and wane
its change of time of rise and set
but when you look
you find it in its place
full, crescent, new
forever learning grace.
©Wendy Mulhern
August 25, 2011