An Undarned Heart

What do you lose (or can be lost)
as innocence slides, slips, slakes
the thirst for experience?

The ingenuous corners of the mind are
(or must be) a memory, a vacated ignorance
— true innocence cannot suspect
even itself

The loss, that new longing, is in the flotsam
of not having intimated the pain, the truth
in what you didn’t (or should not) avoid

Is a blank slate a construct, stitched
from tears, scars, lessons learned?
An undarned heart has no contrast fluid
that speaks of what it has been (or will be)

• • •

Image credit: Emiliano Arano (adapted from source)

Father, son, husband, friend and writer by day; asleep by night. Happily pondering the immortality of the crab wherever words are shared.

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