A Valentine’s Day Poem After Reading Mark Strand

The meat of my heart
and the meat of your heart
can never meet.

They are plugs in closed systems
enclosed in closed systems
so that you cannot trace
their tracery, map their trajectories,
or monitor their levels
of order or entropy.

We are pressed together—
dried flowers, forgotten book.
We press for knowledge,
thinking we might know
of each other what
we cannot know
of ourselves.

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