I.
Water, salt, and oil,
my tears don’t disappear.
They slide layered,
silver sheets of translucent mica
fragmenting down my face and chin,
carving out softness and trailing
wave after wave
of compassion’s wound.

II.
My chest heaves of stone,
steadied in the shaking.
Rumbling, tumbling, quaking with love
from the seams of my heart,
opened
through broken.