the crying girl

The moon is calmer than
her sister; her sharp chin careens
to the left as sleep

overtakes her, and while the broccoli
Tree tops sway, I watch my outburst shape crystals
That tug pensively at the broken floor of May’s

eyes. Then, poking through in
iridescence with the lunar glow, those
Crystals pop and dash

down May’s delicate cheeks.
I am the Odysseus of tears, sailing
Hopelessly in the backseats of parked

Cars, within the crashes of Poseidon’s
vengeance, and I am the
butt of the silence gag.