• What murders lie buried within the
    sheaths of tears we can only
    ever dare to know?
    A gazelle smiles at me, his lips
    peeling, his world bleeding
    dewdrops of a morning frost.
    He has no eyes. He
    fades, fazes, runs through closed spaces.

    Oh tears of sorrow and morning frost,
    dewdrops gathered into sheaths –
    Devour me!
    Hands in the throes of morning light,
    feet glowing with dusk’s delight,
    all colored in simple pinks and whites.

    This murder lies concealed
    as a lion’s jaw.
    Charring its own hand off,
    anointing with dirt and disease –
    it is one deeply forgotten.
    Itself a victim of its lion’s jaw.
    Emptiness is nothingness, and it
    dares to speak out -

    Dewdrops of a morning frost
    devour the emptiest space of all.

    To be washed away with nothing more than tears,
    this murder!
    It glistens like snow.
    And upon emptiness, I scratch
    out a graveyard;
    upon morning light I wilt
    into a final cry.

    These murders lie buried within
    the sheaths of tears
    we can only ever dare to know.