“How can you keep a poem
from losing its spirit?”
she asks wistfully,
staring at her reflection in the broken
bottle of her once stored tears.
She sets the remnants
gently on the hardened clay
that shattered her salt-water
prison, leaving her no choice
but to shed the remainder
in unchecked rivulets over
surface smile contorting
to angles grotesque.
The tears are spilling now into her lap,
shed through fingers covering her face,
eyes peeking through the cracks,
seeing only as much of her world
as she can bring herself to accept.
She lifts her gaze, eyes full of rivers,
turning the sun into a thousand
gleaming wishes, flashing their
sharp radiance across the horizon
like a trove of uncut diamonds
promising a storm
of light. And she believes the truth:
it can and it will save her life.