I go from one to another

with quiet hands and screaming eyes

holding my carefully folded heart.


I push it towards you,

into half-closed fists,

and snatch it away again,

trying to press it into shape.


In the foggy sun, I spread it out

like a silk handkerchief,

admiring its spots and ragged corners,

seeking my face in the deep red.


I fold it again, into its usual creases

into its usual place

in my pocket.

I will meet you again


with your glazed smile

still damp from paint

and your hands red and blistered

where my heart rubbed off.

Even in the dark I will know your eyes

and your voice that follows and mocks me still

and you will bear witness as i walk away

that my heart, so stubborn, would not tear.