And now the stuff about the heart I thought,
The abstract stuff we tout, emote, and feel,
Seems somehow out of tune with tubing brought
From groin arterially through the seal
Of ancient ignorances, metaphor
Can lose its magic, science pushes through
The heart's, once secret, now unguarded door,
To see what metamorphoses can do.
The poets talk of love, of god, of grace,
Of angels, stars, and habitations we
Delight to put in words for lips to trace,
Again, when lips, the heart fed, cease to be;
But, now is not the time to abdicate
The heart's sweet beating back the fog of fate.