Recently visited the cardiologist for a stress test and an ultrasound of my heart. There was an odd comfort being able to view the workings of the organ, the actual muscle itself pulsating and throbbing, generating its internalized rhythm— a rare wild flower, sacred blue flame, a ripening wild apple surrounded by wasps. It was an overwhelming moment, building a stronger connection with myself.

The metaphors collect, gather for a future poem— a nice image for closure of the 365 haiku-cycle.

In the doctor’s suite,
they show me my awkward heart,
cased in sacred flames.


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