Hearts and Doodads

My heart is New York
it is the Roman ruins
it is all that is big
with history
bursting upward
and down.

My heart is confetti
it is a stuffed pinata
it is all that glitters
with its collections
of meaning and matter
piling and scattered.

Our hearts are just decoration
on Dad's old junk fence.
Amongst the gourds
and doodads.
My heart by your heart.
We decidedly watch the birds sing,
they are hungry today.