There was a time when people lived
in a magical world; a child could
unhook his heart, hold it in his palm
play with it, like any other toy
mark it with chalk, put it in a box
stow underneath the bed at nightfall.
He could bounce it like a ball, stroke it
tenderly, set it free and watch it
hop like a cuddly pup, or a perky bird
poised to fly. He could feel it throb
and miss a beat, then scurry through
now gliding, now whirring and wobbling.
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