Chiang Yomei


Indigo night.
Tears find no voice:
a language unto itself.

I understand
all the pain in the world:
how tears burn
and sear the heart
like dried wood –
a funeral pyre
that resurrects.

Nothing makes sense;
all that remains is loss.
A loss so full
it is empty –
a receptacle
for all the pain in the world
A primordial river
carrying all the suffering that has been
and all the suffering that will come.