Foolish Hearted

In the middle of my country,
I un-earthed my heart, carried
it in my hands to the sea;

overnight its roots shriveled,
dried like scab on old wounds.

I laid my heart in the sands,
the foamy surf caught it like
a small, pink shell or stone,

floating for a moment, then
submerged and disappeared.

Years went by before I found it
washed up on a lonely shore;

it's roots were long and large,
its body filled with stories,

bloated to the point of rupture
by what it finally learned:

no matter where your heart is,
it knows where it belongs.

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