The floor of it all isn’t gone,
so I’ll break my heart against it.
Already out in my hand, badly beating,
more wall than I’d imagined, my heart—.
Once struck, I hoped to hear
a jungle sound or two—a white monkey’s shriek,
a fat, fat rain, a lion’s mane swifting the leaf,
an earthy quake . . .
Am I not my heart’s own master?
Remember when you shyly asked a man
to give himself to you, and when he said nothing,
you knew? You stood blank as ache,
yet the heart didn’t break full through.
You know better than to tell it what to do.
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