The tear drags its long tail behind it like a comet,
navigating the craters and protuberances
of my face. I am the solar system, my mouth
Saturn and my great tongue is a cloud that cleans the
stars from the sky.
I feel benevolent, beautiful, in letting the tears go as far
as they may before they plunge off the hanging crag of my jaw.
I do not like to brush them away so cruelly
and hastily as some people do, even
before they've peeped out of their burrow in my eye.
I also let anyone who wants to, see my tears: look,
I am continually being baptised. This rain cloud behind my eyes
that is constantly being wrung cleanses me.
Just before I go to bed, it is wrung as dry as possible and then
wipes off my mind and there is silence at last behind my eyes
and I can sleep, finally, without the sound of rainfall.
In the night, the cloud mops up spilt liquids, puddles, worries
and so requires one more day to wring it all out again.
I am like the weather in winter: this is a constant cycle.