Along the lines of reminiscence,
the last tear
fell down in much too haste
lest the rest would hear
the ancient wails of history’s
moist imprint upon my skin.
Afraid that they would let evade
the searing pierce of silent sin.
It fell before you noticed.
It fell before I held.
Drained the fervor of seas, alone,
and was lost before it felt.
Thus it pulsed its last.
The last one that I shed.
Eased over shredded cloth on bones,
it disappeared, spread in a soundless sigh,
with it drowned the echoing moans.
So let it die. So let me cry.