by Tom Bajoras
Here is my heart.
Keep it in your pocket—
It might be useful
when the sky starts to fall.
It’s tough like steel—
You can hide under it
from the deluge of stars.
In the smoldering aftermath,
when night, the cold forever night,
blankets the mutilated mountains, still
here is my heart.
I was never very good at miracles,
so don’t expect the lame to walk
or the blind to see, but
I can turn 5000 loaves into hope.
And that could be enough
to get you through one more day.