Last night was wet with tears.
A flow of heavy water drenched the clock
that turned slower than ever.
Turning and yearning with rust on the gears,
hands reached towards the heavens.
This is running aquatic lament.
Waters erode those gears,
and the arms are trapped in the position-
Oh, good heavens I know-
with the fatigue of years strain.
To cool the fire in a heart's desire,
dripping drops fall from the skies.
Flakes fall with the relief of icy rain.