POETRY: The Heart Flowing Out, by Linda Gregg

All things we see are the shapes death makes.
When we see straightly and hard we see
with the eyes of death. Light and dark, the weight
of the forms: a bell, a door, in their placement
one with the other. The black window
and the white wall are taut in their exact
distance, and firm in themselves,
surrounded by the imperfect dark hills
and the absolute light of the sky. Feeling is not
in the things, but in us. Though sometimes
they shake like a vision in their perfect tension
of being. Death is strong, so the world is
that strong too. A man walks down a road
then cuts across a field. We walk
with our soft bodies and tough minds.
Water is the shine moving, death does not flow.
We flow, our bodies and hearts flow.
When we enter death it gives way,
but not yet. Our hearts flow out through
the consciousness, focused.
The more it looks, the more it sees the hard
thing shaking with its own energy
in relation to the whole scene and its meaning.
Making that meaning, whatever it means.

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