Could You Find It in Your Heart
Beth Roberts
Pacing the treeline during the interim,
listening to shifts in the snow, clicking
water, weather hides well, the state
of precipitation and its lack is indivisible,
though it asks for the long gaze.
No better rest for the eyes than the weather,
like no better place for the heart than

the body: what water, what matter,
insidious traps, commerce and failure.
Let out, the heart enlarged leaps to detail,
pries overcast for the red sprig, wig, vein,
smile. It's always there, though we can't
believe it, the hand on the heart, the heart
in the throat.