The willows weeping guest

Moulding my posture

to the shape of limp limbs

she wept the way I wept

letting sorrow paint the air in strokes

My mourning grounds are sacred

her grief understood

the holy movement; the exchange

she yields to me thus to time

We continuously mourn but do not whimper

the lantern is ablaze

with thread and needle, she sews me

hanging pendants of the heaviest tears

Strafe water earthbound from sky

finding respite in the cloak