the heart hangs from the rafters, it is blue and in need of a welding

i wonder how
important i would feel if
i felt important?

three days ago
i chewed thin strips
of deer meat
from oven-roasted neck bones,
which i had forgotten about
in my propane-fired stove.
i had placed them
in the stove
and then left
to help a man apply a
coat of plastic sheeting
to his sailboat,
a protectant
from the Winter
and its season of gifts.
he offered me money,
which i declined,
and offered me thanks
for the conversation we shared
while we rolled and cut and
taped and twisted great
white sheets of plastic,
which i accepted.

it did not feel bad
to accept his thanks,
nor did it feel bad
to strip thin strips of meat
from the neck bones of a deer.

the bone was still
so hot, fresh
from the oven,
and my hands still
cold, fresh
from the outside air.
i had to move quickly.

i had to move quickly,
my thoughts clinging
to the bones of
perceived importance;
if i felt it,
would it
burn from heat
or from
cold?

the unnamed mountain
is no less important than
that which wears addict
tracks of hiking trails.
my friend feels
badly, he wants
to hike to feel better.
my friend feels
badly, she spends
the day exercising
to feel better.

the mountain
in the window,
the wind laughing
at the plastic-sheeted sailboat,
the naked neck
bones, the dead
deer, my belly,
my heart,
like an ocean.
always filling, always
emptying.

Published by Zak

an intertidal island in an ocean of impermanence.

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