#1
if i could find
the key to
your heart, dear,
it would be better than
christmas, all the christmases
i have lived through; and,,
and the birthdays, too;

it would be more surprising
and noble than
a note from the tooth fairy,
apologizing for
being late by -
three days.

i have wondered (, love)
in what shape your heart is:
let me tell you
it is not fist-sized,
nor plump and veiny,
squeezing itself endlessly;
it is not located to the left
of your breast, and it is not
where your palm rests
during ‘o canada’.

it is not vastly hidden

it is,
your heart -
it is
a bright meadow in Virginia
dotted with wild dogs, laughter
in their eyes; it is
the weakness in my knees
when i first looked upon
the san fransisco bay
bridge, or really, just
- san francisco. it is
a spinning room after i
have drunk too much
and i feel your fingers
pinching up my thighs;
it is not in the louvre
(though it should be) or
the smithsonian - the air and
space museum, crowded
and yearning;

your heart, my love,
my - everything;
if i could
find the keys to your heart,
i would hold
the keys to
the world.


#3
yeah, there are parts i'm definitely wanting to revise. i am not sure if one puts their hand upon their heart during "o canada"? anyone know about this?

thanks/.
#4
revised.

if i could find
the key to
your heart, dear,
it would be better than
christmas - all the christmases
i have lived through; and,,
and all the birthdays, too.

it would be more surprising 
and noble than
a note from the tooth fairy,
apologizing for
being late by
three days.
 /

i have wondered (, love)
in what shape your heart is:
let me tell you
it is not fist-sized, 
nor plump and veiny,
squeezing itself endlessly;
it is not located to the left
of your breast, and it is not
beneath your resting palm
as you fall to sleep at night

it is not vastly hidden;

it is,
	(your heart - 
		)
it is
a bright meadow in Virginia
dotted with wild dogs, laughter
in their eyes; it is
the weakness in my knees
when i first looked upon
the san francisco bay
bridge, or really, just
- san francisco. it is
a spinning room after i 
have drunk too much,
where i feel your fingers 
pinching up my thighs;
it is not in the louvre 
(though it should be) nor 
the smithsonian - the air and 
space museum, crowded
and yearning;

your heart, my love,
my - 
		everything;
when ever i find the key
to your heart,
i will stay rooted
to you, forever and
endless - however long
time quietly patters forth
with the small footsteps of children,
i will stay by you,
our arms around one another,
entangled like old elms,
moaning in the breeze
with laughter.