the tears rise as from a pool
splashed by the stone of death.

they rise, peak, arc
and fall. the stones fall
erratic, one and another, and
though there was only one death

there seem to be many stones.
there seems to be no end of water.

outside, the snow falls.
the night gathers its velvet and cold.
i wish that i believed in heaven.

death stoops to choose another
stone. heavy. smooth.

it skips.