You will not circumnavigate it.
You will not turn over a new leaf.
The years, and their treasures,
have left their inscription on the heart’s face.
And the heart
has a memory deep,
and silent, and private
as the gifts it has hoarded to itself.
So you may not have the words to find
or the language to translate
the heart’s unwinding grief.
But it will pour,
and pour itself out.
Ana Lisa de Jong
Living Tree Poetry
‘The heart is the secret inside the secret’