Heart
My heart a bat that bangs its head
                                        — Cynthia Zarin

        No point, I
          would say, to
              even try
    to quiet or contain
        it — this quick,
            incautious pip-
        istrelle, which,
                when in some
              gray, banausic
    hour, a new
          and vital
trifling concerns it,
    can be almost
              quaint
          in its kerfuffle,
  as if a roost
        of something much
                less leathery
were purling, or a hive
            of meth-
  contented bees confer-
          ring, and no use
                at all to
            bandage up
    the head it
          keeps on
  bumping, as
                it appears
            so thoroughly
        determined
                  in all its light-
weight wingèd fray
          to knock
              and punch
    the very timbers
              of its vaulted
  roof away.

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Copyright © 2020 Hailey Leithauser All rights reserved
from Able Muse
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission