2 May 2008, 7:09 AM
The torrents come and salt
stings my eyes, rubs in wounds
which should have been long healed.
But this salt solution finds its way
to places still raw, tender to the touch.
Through blinding sheets I cannot see
to tend the wound, so I huddle close,
cling to you, hope the storm will pass,
wear out itself instead of me. The salt
may cauterize these aching lacerations
so summer may find us the humbler,
resting in a melancholy peace.