My heart is not arrhythmic
At least not yet
It’s just the rhythms of my life that have been disrupted
By my heart’s treasonous murmur
I have shed the patterns of comfortable serenity
For trepidation set against anticipation
I make preparations for my convalescence
Without a backbeat
Not knowing the tempo of recovery
My heartstrings are slack-keyed
Waiting to be tuned
By a luthier of broken hearts
When I will be reset and rebooted into
Tick tock
Tick tock
Precision beats against the drumwall of my bloodied chest
Torn open but not asunder
My heart will be absolved of its imperfections
Given back its undercurrent of regularity
Rhythming into conformity with normalcy
Alive to light dancing across the sky
Tuned in to tidal ebbs and flows
Ever mindful of the fragility of now
And certainly forever
Never arrhythmic after playing a moment of time
Outside of time
Again, and again
And again
David Trudel © 2013
