The shape of a broken heart when it has settled,
when it has learned to negotiate with its pain—
when its scattered pieces come reluctantly to an agreement,
tucking away their sharp edges.
Its treacherous fissures filled,
though the parts will never again make a whole.
Still, there is room for life.
That heart will never again skip a beat,
but when its owner isn’t paying attention,
it may swell with joy at the sight—
of a delicate woman, light and unburdened,
floating across a crossing on Main Street,
swirling like a ballerina into a café,
gracefully slipping past pedestrians who block her way,
yet somehow catching every ray of afternoon light
on that bright spring day.
Khadim Zaman's Blog 