Small Hearts

Such small hearts
                   in all things.
The dying mayflies litter
damp concrete by the front door,
a solitary greenfly clings
                to the frame outside
within scent of the warm
through the locking-out glass.

Tick, tick, slower beat,
                 and we never felt it
Inside our bigger forgotten hearts,
because we always neglect
what keeps us alive,
                   clock under our ribs,
until it breaks, one way
or another, soundless and red.