I think about buying a woodcut print
made by your wife. On it, a heron
dives toward a human heart. Its one eye
looks back from where it has come--
pebble gray sky or marsh—not toward
the heart that waits to be devoured,
which is what hearts want. Which is to say,
it is what I once wanted--
to be pierced, dove into, greedy and violent.
Heart ripped and terrifying. This heart
has no color, no prize of blood or flesh.
Come here. I unbuttoned my red blouse.