If she had cried…would it take away the ghastliness of great surprise?
Even as a witness…to her rain…
A gentle, caressing touch that penetrates the skin.
Humidity and its warming coat…left gingerly behind…
Among this…could I begin, again?
…
As a crow flies, tears fall from the skies.
Yet, never from a solemn women’s eyes.
…
Water pounds like a fist coursing itself from the heavens.
The road ahead, still parched and unforgiving.
…
As the crow flies, tears fall from the skies.
Yet, never from a solemn women’s eyes.
Gasping for Tears
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