Salty currents of time grind away at our spirits,
And the fathoms beneath fathoms of sweet dishonesty,
Of fondly misheard promises,
Of desperately misremembered smiles,
Fill our vast capacities for affirmation
Without rendering a drop
To our parched aches for love.
And the drops that do assuage our emptiness,
Falling light from frugal heaven,
Taste pure and rare
Behind our unmet lips.
But the rain fuses eagerly with the tide,
The salt and heavy cloud swirl together unchecked,
And the fog trickles through our hungry ears,
Unable to writhe into any shape
Other than the drops that crouch behind our eyes,
More dismissive than patient.
Do not think a drop can betray the course of an ocean,
But savor it for its own worth.