4:13 a.m. Friday,
for no particular reason at all,
I can no longer contain pain, swirling pools
pressuring against damn stubborn heart
that has had enough of sorrow but
again breaks open.

This is no leak, no simple
drainage from emotional reservoir,
no moody blues nor rite of passage.
I spring from bed and race for tender night.
Tall trees stand with me, accept graciously
this coursing river of tears without word
or sound, their leaves silent, still
on this windless night.

I have never wished so
desperately to become one
among them, to stand, one who belongs
to many, to receive rain and give shade,
to provide sparrows shelter
and inspire poetry.

To simply be, to have no need
to understand cruel silence of many
who convict me for nameless crimes…
oh, to have no feeling but nature’s rhythm
pulsing through my veins! I lift arms
high as branches through the dark
and breathe a wordless prayer
for strength and surrender,

for I know these tears
are meant to fall upon this ground
and I am meant to stand tall and speak,
if only to these unmoved trees,
if only in the dead of night,
for as long as God allows it.