seeps into our hearts
like water, visiting our cracks and crevasses,
moisture making the air thick.

Droplets everywhere and already
we are so overcome with trying not to rust
that we do not notice winter
until our hearts begin to swell.

Sorrows do that: expand to fill
all available space
and then with one final push,
shattering us,
prove that our hearts are made of stone.

- July 1, 2003