Sadnesses besiege me,
at the dying of the light,
nothing can console me,
like a vein of ore run through solid rock,
through my life
the glittering flow of tears
has been like a tumbling spring
in hill country.

My love, stretched upon this rack of time, 
appears redundant, gone,
until her song is sung,
until her time is right
until the light in her eyes
greets me at night....

Memory no longer serves me
well
I think that
ghosts 
line my pockets with rocks
'Fear death by drowning'
they whisper.

I will rise many times,
cry and cry again
before the water takes me,
each time's worry,
conquered only by
the flame, the flame, the flame
of love, love, love.

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