"i hold you responsible for the collapse of my heart."
maybe someday i'll write a poem that
will build it back up again.
it's unlikely that a heart can be rebuilt with words
quite as easily as it can be taken down,
but maybe that doesn't matter--
maybe the ruins of a heart hold more meaning
than the unharmed corners and pristine shape
it held beforehand,
inside of which the heart
maybe a heart can't open
and close like a book,
but I think it can open and stay open,
to its peril,
with the same recklessness
of leaves and flowers.
maybe being held responsible
for the collapse of your heart
means being compelled to respond--
not to apologize
not to confess
but to simply answer,
the way an echo answers
stone, the way the first
song might have started.
maybe to restore a heart
one has to construct something else,
a shape made of music
or color, of sensation or words
which the heart can occ