The doctor told him,
Something is living in your heart.
The poet borrowed a camera.
He told his heart to smile.
He slipped the plate under his ribs
and caught his heart running out of the picture.
He told his heart to relax.
It beat on the plate with its fist.
It did not want to lose its face!
He told his heart he was taking nothing
but an ikon by which to remember it.
Then the heart stood up like a bandstand
and the wren who lived under the eaves
left her nest and started
the long journey south.