— for Kim

So: the heart opens glistening in the chest,

wet like the tinsel branches of the palm tree standing tall in sun

after rain, after a day so gray nothing could shine.

The heart shines; then it convulses,

longing, as usual, to touch and hold.

It expands and contracts

a few billion times — 

that’s what hearts do.

The palm tree

glitters for nothing and no one.

Stands through rain,

sun — that’s what palm trees do.

You are too beautiful, the heart cries bitterly,

pulsing like orgasm around the gleaming world,

the monumental, never-to-be-grasped

beauty of the world.

The palm tree says nothing.

High, impossibly high in its branches

grow the ripened dates.