My heart comes back from its night of dreams
eager to tell its stories,
rendered quiet by lack of words
as all the memory has faded

My heart, resilient and decorous,
as it has been throughout the night,
waits beneath my morning musings and remembrances.
It might have something to say
when the time is right

Though when I come around to asking,
it is reticent, for I have made my mental scene
too busy to receive its message

Ah, heart — here’s some stillness for you —
beneath the beep of backing trucks
and the squawk of crows,
and the louder blaring of my random thoughts,
a pause, a prayer, a listen —
There. Your turn.

©Wendy Mulhern
September 14, 2016