A tear drops faster lash to cheek than cheek to floor,
such is the pull of gravity.

The salty stain of the run dries cool.

An inverted gulp spelling sorrow rises, diffuse
at its edge, tattered and feasting on memory.

Eyes shut, head under covers,
the black swan dives, an ebon pool;

the release of all tension and fall.

From lash
to cheek.

Chagall 2017

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