the stone that lies above the heart has fallen from on high and softly breaks its crib of flesh with stories of the sky
the fire that burns beneath the heart is spreading like a stain and smoke-streaked phantoms rise and choke the chimney to the brain
the wind that keens about the heart is aching like a knife and bursts the stone with wishing yet to have another life
the river that the heart controlled has left its bed of nails and rusts upon the body’s shore whose alchemist now fails