In the cave of the chest the wild heart drums
      around a fire and clutches close a fur
because it is cold and nightfall comes.

In that wilderness the cold wind numbs
      everything it touches, so we take cover
in the cave of the chest. The wild heart drums

on stretched skin. And someone else strums
      the stringed instrument inside of her
because it is cold and nightfall comes.

The fire-lit walls, whatever they become,
      become things we never thought they were.
In the cave of the chest the wild heart drums,

but the drums have never felt palms or thumbs
      or fists, never throbbed in the open air
because it is cold and nightfall comes.

Call it what you will, the chamber hums.
      Fear-sack, lonely hold, old music maker.
In the cave of the chest the wild heart drums
because it is cold and nightfall comes.

Gary J. Whitehead's most recent book is A Glossary of Chickens (Princeton University Press, 2013).