Dear Heart,

You must be exhausted with all the emotions swelling in our veins,
exhausted with the rough rhythmic running, reaching no end,
so I lift my head from the pillow.

It’s yours for the night.

Don’t bother with the curtain; I will draw it to a close.  
Don’t fret over his voice; Silence he will be told.

Heart, Why must you rise and rummage through our memories?

Come now, rest.

Your companion,

Francisco D.H