I find it amusing
the notion that you stole my heart
like a bandit who crept in while I slept
my greatest treasure.
This living, pulsing sun
that makes flowers bloom
and hastens the birth of Spring?
As if fingers could grasp it, resist
As if it were something one could possess
like a jewel, left unguarded
My heart can no more be stolen
than the current stolen from the river.
My heart can belong to no one
any more than the stars belong to the night.
What you hold now
that which slipped from clumsy fingers
or is kept dusty on a shelf
or perhaps was hung on your wall to admire
is merely a relic
a crystal glass filled with the golden water
I poured for you
from the precious fount that still beats within me.
It was always yours to spill
But whatever you choose, know
that my heart is full
and will fill your glass again and again
and yet again
until you understand true love
until you know forgiveness.