THE FOSSILIZATION of the HEART
by rosemarie dombrowski

The mythology of the snake,
the mold rimming the flesh
of the last citrus before the fall.

Here, there are no more gardens,
only structures of corrugated steel,
the shadows of our bodies
like fossilized organisms
climbing the walls.

We have lost our capacity
to coil between pith and peel.
We are rotted before our time.
The light reflects off the glass,
bounces between our eyes,
exits into ripples in the murk.

Finally, the leaves envelop us,
drying the landscape into disorder,
the entropy of the body outlined in dust,
the heart exaggerated
out of hope or desperation.