When Trees Cry

When trees cry, the whole world drips

in tingly, diamond fingertips

which rush down necks and trace lined brows,

reminding us that  pain of now

will soak the earth with verdant paint,

ignite sun’s beams with no constraint;

for tear-drops come, and tear-drops go,

but clouds will thin for those below.

Cry Me a River

Cry me a river,

weep me a stream,

sob me a rivulet

on autumn-clad dream.

Mourn me a pretty brook

dappled with rain,

so I will know I can

let go of this pain.