pouring

it’s raining not pouring
not a sound of snoring
to be heard.
light drizzle with a few sprinkles here and there
face wet not from mist.
a flood of tears
down sorrowful faces
dabbing at silent sobs rolling dripping
showering me saturate the hall
wash us like a shower as …

…I walked through the mist, turning right or left depending on the corner, until I arrived at the aquarium. Descending the stairs, the air was dewy; my feeling of disconnectedness content in the dark underground away from all the other emotions I checked at the door. Peering into the embedded tanks of this cave, I felt the physicality of wet without having to physically immerse myself in the enclosed wetness where fish of all kinds darted, glided, drifted. I silently flooded them with everything inside of me, many swam to the glass, looked. A small flat black one with white polkas dots seemed to repeatedly strike a pose, nuzzled his face against the side of the tank like he wanted to tell me something…did it know, do they grieve…

…under the surface
feelings float undetected
completely enveloped
by a sea that makes no distinction.
drenched
we are bathed in suspension
waiting to emerge.
anointed, connected...

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