Maybe if someone presses their face against
a glassy sky and screams, so much, so loud,
the glass will shatter and all that is hidden
behind the absolute blue will rush out, deluge
after deluge, sweeping me with it, no longer
sky, no longer glass, no longer night or day,
just a unified mass, a weeping singularity that
cannot stand the pain, so much, so loud. We
were not supposed to be like this. How does
one heart hold a sky full of grief? Where will it
go when it breaks, that sky full of grief? I watch
another cloud mass move in. It has been raining
for eleven days straight. The monsoon is a lover
who will not be denied. How many hearts, how
many skies, how much of crying makes a deluge?
How many rainy days makes a sky full of grief?