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Saint’s Day Triolet: Saint Valentine

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You’re flush with hearts and I’m forced to fold
this hand and swear off another luckless match.
How we’ve found ways to love each other, cajoled
our cindered hearts, flushed and forced to fold
upon themselves like Saint Valentine ensouled
with seizure, skin a whirring bee swarm, a hatched
flush of doves. My heart, how I’m forced to fold
my hands in prayer for another struck match.

Source: Poetry (June 2014)

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This poem originally appeared in the June 2014 issue of Poetry magazine

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Saint’s Day Triolet: Saint Valentine

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