Headwaters

My ears fill with tears as I lie alone.

It's not the kind of wetness I long for
during these late hours of the night.

They pour out without a sound.
Why disturb the grace of silence
when no one is around to hear it?

They flow over my stagnant, heavy body—
a mountain of solitude,
with its lonely hills, valleys, and peaks.

If the source of these tears
is the duct of my eyes,
then the headwaters
must be the endless thoughts
that run through my mind.

Where do these headwaters begin?

Where is the mysterious spring
that provokes so much sorrow
at such times?

I would feel relief
just to discover it.
With my own capacity,
I could plug it for now.

But more than anything,
I wish there were someone
with the knowledge,
the skill,
and the desire
to help construct
an industrial-sized dam
within me.

Order must be established.
It needs to be controlled.