A Filigree Of Gold: Poem by Mark Heathcote

I have a heart ancient and old
its core is of a rock larva
Newly formed with a pumice soul
that absorbs its self
that absolves its self
till nothing of the whole remains
It is as a liquid-salt or a filigree of gold:
It is a barren desert
It is thirstier than a cactus-flower
awaiting some other blissful dead-sun
that has no need, of substance
No need for reliance or earthly love
I have a heart ancient and old,
its core is of a rock larva
Searching-out the mountain top:
A mountain's summit to unfold
Endlessness it is rented with a mouth of love
unearthed but anyways housed untold.