In the hubbub of the heart
where all things we are
will end,
we beat retreat so many times
from the chimes that
ring out love.

The dove will always fly
that is the way,
if we do not spread our wings,
then one day,
with the dove
we'll die.

In the hubbub of the beating hearts
there are many endings,
and
many starts
but only one
beginning.