Splendid Hearts

In the place of splendid hearts,
the broken pillars are sculpted back
into forms for the dying angels to revere
–climb back into, take new shape
When night falls, the wolves have stopped their howling
The brown and black bile is washed away with human tears
the ancient passages resurrect themselves from the soil
and stones of this earth bear fruits. Berries, Eggplants.
The mountains that cascade our shoulders from
misery bless our eyes with visions of the great
juggernaut; it comes as ferocious peace to release
you and I into the atmosphere
We sometimes call it paradise,
centuries later, in the flicker of presence,
joining Dante’s song of praise and Milton’s graceful plea.

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