Some Tears Water the Earth

Mornings are for 

remembering ourselves;

casualties of the night

slowly coming to.

Our bags still packed

from last night's holiday

we return 

bringing everything

we own to someplace

less new,

as if the familiar

were our

only comfort.

Last night I aligned

myself with the moon,

preferring its strange

but indigenous gravity.

There my life

weighs less,

as I bounce slowly 

between experiences 

with magnetic

affinities 

all their own;

a cotton-mouthed astronaut 

determined to dowse 

the mind for

one last 

moist mirage.

If a desert is

to be survived,

the burden 

of our history

must lie in 

an absence 

of water.

I refuse to exclude 

even a glimmer of

 definitive, yet

 unfelt emotion.

So I agree 

to grieve,

because tomorrow

my only choice

may be

 to weep

a river

from the well

of feeling

my dreams

have sown.

8/22/2021