Dehydration

for Robert

 

Why aren't tears more like October leaves

on the maple, finite in number

that fall but once and pool,

dehydrate and blow away

 

Why are they the fluid of some

artesian spring cored in the earth,

infinite and eternal in flow, no

discernable beginning or end as

though a golden ring

 

or the water in a magician's vase

that tips and empties out,

only to be replenished by the supply

hidden in the hollow walls

 

--rLp--