The Morse of My Heart

Before I even tap in,

The information is already there

Impatiently awaiting my highest deciphering skills.

And often my fingers are nowhere near

These little black keys,

Now turned wooden,

To dance these downloads into text.

They are kept in a sacred vault

For me to hunt for when I return to the space

Where I sit on the floor

And type

The morse of 

My Heart.

I know they are in there,

Yet often I do not find the ones I know I seek.

Instead, there is something else;

Infinitely,

And my fingers dance

My learning into

Written remembrance.

Hush your mind,

For your Heart

Demands your fingers.

The words must flow.

A reminder,

And warning.

And so it is

Aho

Ivy
JULY 5 2018