It does re-seed itself
Nor yet perennial
Though it must be torn apart
It’s always the last to go
Because it comes from the future
It’s not yet fully in flower
But only in this little part that beats
Which itself is a seed in the field
Of the body one day to be all-heart
Heart-head and heart-arms
A heart that has eaten the liver
And the bile of many lives
And comes back reliably in spring
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