The Eater of Hearts

I know the King of hearts.
He has silver hair
He's a Czech from out West
He lives down stairs.

He loves Aphrodite on the run and all her daughters.
Sprung from her loins
They have become prodigal,
Like the galaxies Quickly moving away
From the moment of conception.

The Eater of hearts gathers them up.
He finds them on the street,
Just around the corner, behind the counter,
On the bus.

His devotion is not diluted by plans.
Bathing in beauty, Courageous and merciful
He delivers each one back to her Self.
He takes great risks. He heaves convention out of the boat.
He leaps dolphin -like into the tide.

With one hand he has subdued the muse
With the other he commands the wind.
From these two he fashions a mirror.
Then through Her grace
He illuminates and heats the vast caverns
Of a beating heart.

January 1998