The heart knows, even if it can’t believe:
to you we are a fine crop in a record year,
a windfall you keep counting
to be sure it’s true
while your hearts races
and you dream
about new chances you have now.
The heart knows, even when it can’t believe:
to you we are a gift a lover leaves
at the door, then rings the bell
and runs away to watch
from behind a tree
your face break into light,
your happiness increase.