Cor Cordium (Heart of Hearts)

Kindling pricks the small of my back
presses into cold, quick-limed flesh.
If I could I would stretch and scratch.
Friends, you’ve drenched me in
frankincense wine and salt, wrapped me in a
cotton shift. Once young and handsome, now
- pale even to the lips… I’ve become
the food of fish, limbs pulled and picked.
If I could look in the glass I would see
an eyeless face, pearly as the belly of squid.
My wasted body, storm-battered and lost,
washed up on Viareggio beach;
you knew me by my jacket, and within
the breast pocket, a borrowed volume
of Keats’ Lamia, which I now return
in poor condition, pages bleached, as if:
Upon a time, before the faery broods…
suffused my heart via cloth and skin.

If I could, I would walk right now with you
Byron, Hunt, Trelawny, along this wild shore
at the mouth of the Serchio, gathering
driftwood, talking of romance and ideas
- we young men, with hope and desire -
amid soft curling waves, the light brush of air.
Alas! I have nor hope nor health,
Nor peace within nor calm around…

Now, without my help you hold up high
the lighted torch, then touch it to the hungry wood.
If I could, I would breathe as I burn…
Scatter, as from an unextinguished hearth
Ashes and sparks, my words among mankind!
And when the heat is down, the grey ash
cooling, you begin to rake and scoop,
wanting for something left behind -
something to signify the fiery poet’s art
Thirsting to eclipse their burning
In a sea of death and mourning…
there you find my smouldering heart.

Ann Westgarth