How many tears
will be lost today—
If the ocean dried up
could it be refilled?
A salted downpour
spreads over the earth
drenching open space,
tilling terrain for aches.
Liquid seeds sprung
from memories grow
in the dark of night.
A weeping willow
crawls into our pillows,
drenching dreams
to format forebode.
As water rises
and sorrow overflows
we slip,
slide,
stumble,
further from dry land.
How many minds
will drop to deeper depths—
How many bodies will drown
in their lachrymose sea?
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