We often see more through a tear than a telescope;
a tear so powerful it could bring in a flood to the driest desert, yet
tears like these shuffle down from misty clouds &
land into lakes. Lakes like Lake Minnetonka
where the hum of boat engines lingers in the air
as waves, once tears, crash over the dock,
and then splash my size seven feet with icy water.

Slowly at the rim of the earth,
the waves rise and fall back down in a white tip—
almost as a speechless wrath.

It is through the telescope that
we can truly see the water from the white tip is colorless;
sailors don’t pay attention to this.

Sailors wish to roam the waters when
it is not being cried upon with tears;
they want to sail when the sun burns down on the lake, for
they are unaware that nonstop sunshine makes for a desert.