What Remains, Remains Poem by Warren Falcon

Stricken with 'arrhythmia',
or so my doctor do say which,
the name of an ancient queen, Ethiopian,
first century, leads caravansary into
dunes and what remains undisclosed
beyond weighted horizon,
to Her I yield my heart no
matter its many loans overdue.

Here is my trifle then in
earnest, a release.

Call in the priest
whose ancient hand's
most unsteady,
a lifetime of withholding.

I remain for the moment free.

Between St. Marks and the horizon my fingers still work.