but I left my heart
under your doormat.

You can hear it beating
up against the slats.

But you might mistake it for
the flap of a wing
when a bird’s in flight.

You might mistake it for
the whimpering of a coyote
crying late at night.

You might mistake it for
branches dancing in the wind
in the pale moonlight.

But when you feel something
tugging at your heart
grabbing hold of it tight
there’s no mistaken it then.

A true heart is never slight.