THESE LITTLE
MEASURMENTS
OF THE HEART
Every one of these enemies can haunt.
The marble staircase is worn from a billion
feet. This heart goes on, how many times
has it beat? Everything I remember is a
calculated risk : that smell of Autumn's
mornings, that opening to some other
land, and the ways we've taken first
steps in places when there's been
no footing at all. A long and
calculated sheet of worthy
urgings is calling me home:
to somewhere I want to go,
to somewhere I have not
been, to somewhere I
want to be. All these
little measurements
of the heart.
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