Heart in summer Walks into in fields Of wild poppies, And becomes a bottle That holds the old ink Pressed from Gauzy skirts of their petals Waving in the wind; One continuous flag For Hypnos, The god of sleep In whose arms Loveless fitfully sleep.

It is only when The bottle breaks open And every Beatrice dips Her hand right into The heart of the heart To reveal the silence That abides within, Does the heart find Its permanent center Of gravity To fall into, fall towards.

Written in response to this photo by Elle