i am so much like
the tide and sand--all
there and then not a trace
each grain pushed up and
dug in, washed away by
a smooth hand, pulled
up and dredged out,
separated by skilled
fingers from the
muck and ****
swept out of my
hiding place where
i clung to the rocks
and crevices with fervor
only to be cast upon the shore
water-logged and soaked in salt
i am each mote of feldspar and quartz
drawn and then flat, riddled with color
and grime, pulsing day in--day out to
the heartbeat of an ocean, to a master
as a servant--fighting the flux where
it doesn't go

all the bits and none at all, against the
water then all at once, all at once, all at once
out into the sea, into the furious evening
to weather the storm or weather myself


all at once
all at once
all at once.

it starts with one
just one drip
then another
then more
one after the other
soon there are rivers
rivers of black
black waterfalls running
rivers running
down the face
the pale, smooth face
the black rivers run
until there is no more to be shed
it takes a while
because the drips don't stop
but it doesn't matter
she's cried the last tear
and felt the last drop
and then it all stops