Rubicon of a Tear

 

A drop of water crawls, hesitant, down the windowpane

As a spider might. Surface tension holds

A globe of it in place just long enough

To lend its shape. You know nothing of this, just as

You do not know it tenderly holds to

Its promise, its mother’s orb: just as you do not

Understand that light must be invisible

Until refracted; it is both beam and wave,

Particulate, yet passing in its time.

 

Small journeys teardrops make, down window panes.

But the Rubicon is only a shallow river,

Promise misunderstood, yet bandied much

In conversation like a point of fact;

And despite your rhetoric and all your cries,

Was never wide.

 

 

Cry me a river. But this time, make it the Nile. Much more historically important. 

 

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