This was inspired by a recent Vipassana sit in Onalaska, WA
the same wind
that made the trees dance
gave birth to a tear,
on the peak of Mt. Eyelash
It sticks and stings and piercingly sings
leave a dry white trail to Cheekbone Hill
It pauses for rest
It’s fear in sight
Thickbeard Forest
where most tears die at night
fellow wet nomads followed
along the fallen salt road
gravity and family makes It plump
It marches in, and the war begins
an army of barks await It’s arrival
armed with hair-blades
that slice all survivors
losing itself, feeling torn apart
It continues detached
remembering the mission on start
the final act is reached
It’s purpose of being
diving off Jawline
meeting wind - just in time
carries It safely
to a new eye, goodbye