The heart was a whirling river of blood.

It was firm, it was indifferent to him,

first crushing him, allowing him to go,

then holding him back.

It did not accomodate, rather, it continued

with a steadiness, murmuring only

occasionally.

It had no right or reason to rest.

The parasite sat awhile in the heart,

learning a sense of time by its steady rhythmn.

But what to do with the time, once it was marked out

and acknowledged?

He squeezed himself into the old man's arm hanging useless

at his side.