the source
of the river of my tears
does not lie
within
the ducts of my eyes
it springs
from a feeling in my heart
of joy
overwhelment of beauty
of love
cascading downstream
to the breath in my chest,
heretofore unnoticed,
otherwise autonomic
on the inhale,
sharpness spreading thickly like
the fascia of a muscle
searing my anahata
the breath becomes pain
and before the exhale,
the tears begin
to flow