with this sorrow comes the sorrow
of every loss I ever had
it’s a pool of hidden depths
full of hidden weeds, obscured

is this the same for those occasions
when I’m glad? do i recall a well of joy?
gladness seems to stand alone
no predictions and no source

I know too well the ebb and flow
joy transcends all of itself
that moment like a rising wave
that bubbles up with light and air

today I cannot turn the tide
I sleep the sleep of constant loss
I’m sick with sad complexities
and all the tears I ever cried

if love were simple, as I think,
this stream would never lead
another sorry sigh away
but would swim me back again