Echocardiogram

There it sits framed in the black screen
In a darkened office quiet as a nave
A ghostly gray vase of muscle
Shown in cross-section

And inside a delicate flower is nestled
The petals rushing open and fluttering shut
Not so much like a flower as the wings of a small bird

And the vase contracts, it expands
And this small bird-flower flutters and opens 
Then closes
To an unseen breeze

Small dark void in this gray vase
Enough room for all love and fear and terrors

Where here my heart beats
The red muscle a pallid outline
And the breeze that flutters the bird-flower
Is dark red and viscous 

With all the power and vitality of life.