The heart that get's thrown
into a greenhouse loaded with cacti
is then a beehive that's been abandoned
by all the bees and the honey is decaying,
it's a morning glory closed up at night,
a stubbed toe, it's a bird whose nest
was blown from a tree by a strong wind.
The heart now feels as if it's
the scalp of an elderly person,
with sparse, wispy hair. A book store
that went up in flames, a beach at low tide.
Now it's a cave that's perpetually dark,
a child that has misplaced it's blanket.
Because the saddened heart is an
overflowing basket brimming and filled
with too many flowers.