Grab-bag

My silly heart
that doesn’t have a clue
That flops and gasps
in fear and an excess
of abundance that it
confuses
with a dearth…

My silly heart…
I look around and
Some of me knows
that every smidgen
of this gaudy Universe
is mine
is me
is in my
Concentric spreading sphere

And I am
the fish
the air
the water
the hook
the line
the fisher

but
My silly heart
thinks it lives alone
in a subterranean cave
of loneliness and
complications
and fear and pain

Which, of course, is true, too.
We get to choose.

It’s only one of the
myriad
infinite
smidgens
of this flamboyant
grab-bag of a
Universe.

O, Silly Heart!
I know you
and I love you anyway.

Be comforted.
Breathe.

You get to choose again.
Infinite smidgens.

By Ursula Anderson

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