The heart is big

It crowds the T train

loud handstanding

The heart is raising money

for its basketball team

The heart is holding up

tarsal on metatarsal

a literal heart

hanging there in the air

You open your pocketbook to this heart

It is an involuntary physical response

The heart smiles

The heart exits after two stops

forearm balanced

and graceful

Grace is the watchword

you told me that

once

on the T train

in noontide halfdream

You were pale-colored figment

an apparitional heart

so natural you were supernatural

and I too dualist to notice