More on: heart

I loved you before I was born. It doesn’t make sense, I know. I saw your eyes before I had eyes to see. And I’ve lived longing for your every look ever since. That longing entered time as this body. And the longing grew as this body waxed. And the longing grows as this body…

I’m thinking again of Pandora and the box, of the boy committed to stopping her until she undid her golden braids and got her way. He’d wanted to open it, too, but he’d made a promise to a friend, and for a while the promise was relevant. I’m thinking of irrelevance, of word and spirit…

WHEN I WAS GROWING UP, I wanted to be Christopher Hitchens. In a manner of speaking. I didn’t, in fact, learn who he was until I was in my thirties, but I can see in retrospect that Hitchens was the epitome of everything I hoped to be as a writer. My passions were political, philosophical,…

I am hollowing a dwelling        in the granite of my heart. I am thinking then to torch       its walls, and sweep out all debris with a green, a heavy branch       of rosemary. I mean to chip a niche inside       therein to rest a…

  As for you, my galvanized friend, you want a heart. You don’t know how lucky you are not to have one. Hearts will never be practical until they can be made unbreakable. —The Wizard of Oz I know a man whose heart is not his own, who at thirty slowly became statuary, gray stranger,…