The heart’s not a pie, but how convenient
that it’s sliced into four, that it can hold
different concentrations of oxygen
simultaneously. Degrees untold
of love and thankfulness and resentment
together and apart, correctly controlled,
disparate, immiscible, vast oceans.
How fortunate that it can celebrate
and grieve at the same time. It can contain
brimming tears, and itself. Yet cascade
joy, radiate peace, friendship. Entertain
opposable thumbs of thoughts with innate
ease. It can loathe clouds but still love the rain,
petrichor, bedewed grass, the shade of shade.