If I could recover all the tears I have lost
I would become a lake wider than Windermere,
Deeper than the depths of wild Loch Ness,
Or the ocean due west of Sligo Bay.
And all the islands would be misty with ghosts,
The whispering ghosts of friends and lovers
Long decades out of touch.
But tears once shed cannot be recovered,
They evaporate like prayers in the morning light
When the candles are snuffed and the altar is cleared
And the church is locked up for the day.
Tears are sacred, that is why we hide them
From neighbours and strangers passing our way,
Pale shadows in the rain.
Their healing words are just background noise
When we want to rage at the sun.
Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
June 26th. 2021.
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