My eyes turn from these tears. My
heart wishes not to see its pain alive,
flowing. Yet run and run again--life
will not be denied its privilege. That
which flows cleanses, washes clean
the maddening fruit of desire.
What looks most horrible and ponderous
is created by my own heart. The heart
knows its own children and says, yes,
yes to even these, the most unattractive.
I submit to the wisdom of the untamed eye.