Heart Valve

They told me there’d be pain so when I felt it, sitting at my beat-up farm desk that looks out glass doors onto the browning garden—plain sparrows bathing in the cube-shaped fountain so violently they drain it, the white-throats with their wobbly two-note song on the long way south still, and our dogs out like lights and almost falling off their chairs freed of the real-time for awhile as time began for me to swell, slow down, carry me out of all this almost to a where about as strong a lure as love.