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Rules don’t apply

When I’m asleep he’s alive
and can play chess with me
but wrongly. Last night
I had no pieces, and his pawns
were heading to the side,
where he said they would be
anything they wanted. I knew
it was wrong but I was so glad
to see him I didn’t care. As a boy
I’d get so angry at always losing
I’d sometimes cry, but at twelve
I might beat him and at fifteen
I always would. Then he stopped
playing. At sixty eight he left
but comes back to show me
rules don’t apply where he is,
I want to call it the heart.