Now more often against its nature,
the heart separates itself from light
like a wooded creature black-mane
peppered gray, crooked boned, its head
hinged down looking for that dark place
to rest awhile or die.
Some things of beauty hide themselves
or what is left of beauty- not to save the eye
or mind but to shame it, to chastise it, to remind it
of what is lost, perhaps of what may come-
always the heart beats soundly
until it stops.
We were made for this: patience, leaning away,
how the beautiful keep looking for a darker
corner to slip into. See the fibrous edges
of the heart blur and soften. See what once
hardened us, strips away.