My joyful heart grows stronger faster
than a downcast one, said
The second Apostle of Rome, another Phil,
with extra ribs broken,
as mine,
by a full heart.
No, no longer stone.
My chest crumbles inwards when I see her
brown eyes, persevering to the end
of a thought.
I never interrupt, bewitched,
alone that is a miracle.
Joy anchors me to the world
when I stay silent
long enough
to hear her every word
until the final period.
From time to forever,
the best thing to do is nothing,
I know
when the sound of my soul
echoes in one ear
like a rose petal’s whispers
to the foam tips at sea
telling the truth.
Stoneheart no more.
©Philippe du Col, 2025