How simple it feels
to let go of the strings
and fall upwards
into
the stars and such things.

How hard it must be
to love with your heart
but fear that your head
will tear it apart.

What name should I call
when I’m all alone?
Whose hands can stretch out
with one pool of hope?

Whose hands can stay clasped
but gentle- devout-
to keep that wet hope
from drip-dripping out?

From running to drought?