Tear Clouds

The clouds held rain

like our tears -
heavy beyond holding.
For days they spilled
out of our eyes,
over our lids,
down our cheeks
in unending streams of warmth.

O God,
how,
even when we had stopped
crying, how they did run
out, slopping over the sides
of our bucketed hearts.
Never-ending.

I cannot
form the questions.

The mind has ceased
and the heart has
joined forces with
the body.

The mind’s grief is confusion.

Its grief is not the grief of
the rest of the body -
those wrenching, twisted
knotted aches.

It is more
a still grief. Unsure and childish.

The body mourns and mourns
and mourns, becoming empty
and endlessly full,
changing the course
of life -

Never to be the same again.

The mind grieves confusion.

The heart holds hands with the
body and pours out its grief
onto the rutted
earth that is grooved
by the soul of time forever.

Weather changing deeply,
clouds moving endlessly to the
rhythm of drenching and drying;
digging trenches in soft feeling
that screams in pain.

Ciao!

+Tom