The Heart Gives UpSuch was its pain that night:

The Heart Gives Up

Such was its pain that night:
the heart wanted to grip the veins
till the pores would open and its blood rush out.
It was as if somewhere far off,
as if in your courtyard,
each leaf, rinsed in my aching blood,
had wearied of the moon's lustre,
such beauty no longer sufferable.
Such was the heart's pain:
that the body seemed a desert
and the veins, those torn ropes, loosened,
were giving notice that life's caravan,
its cargo emptying, was about to depart.
And when memory, for a moment, was a brief candle,
lighting up the consolation that you are,
it wasn't enough.
Something told me, "Linger, don't leave,"
but the heart didn't waver, it didn't wish to stay.