There is a thing in the heart buried

There is a thing in the heart buried
There is a thing in the heart buried between the beat and the flow furrowed in the mind between synpases and snow –
“I think; therefore, I am.”No, something else got there firstthat couldn’t form itself into wordsyet had an energy to exert,a lifeforce that moved without lettersover the face of the open heart.It was there before you conceived a thought.It gave the thought its hidden start. 
Thought before thought, shifting mosaic, something unhellenic, unalgabreic, working itself out between letter and numberand every thought you have bursts forth from it,this deep chasm of thoughtlessness that shapes a life and instructs a soul. What of it this thing buried in the heart, in the snow?
What of it? Everything!This thought but not thought,that the light of day cannot illuminate though it’s there resting in the shade nestled in the nooks of your open journal speaking “I love you” long before the pen touches paper or the mouth forms the words or the words form thought or the thought scraps its way into the very consciousness that this thing in your heartwrought.
Dark matter thought thought beyond thought: we can guess its weight but not as well as we ought. Unsearchable, unfillable by law or human hands, there is a thing in the heart buried that builds us as best it can.
Then again, now that I think of it,another thing I am starting to understand:there is a thing in the heart resurrected between the beat and the flow interjectedthat rebuilds me into a new, impossible man.It will always be just as it is an unquanitified univisited unplace but I can see what’s flowing out of itfrom the path of its resplendent wake. 
Luke 24: 32
They asked each other, “Were not our hearts burning within us while he talked with us on the road and opened the Scriptures to us?”