Another Weeping Woman

  Pour the unhappiness out

  From your too bitter heart,

  Which grieving will not sweeten.

  Poison grows in this dark.

  It is in the water of tears

  Its black blooms rise.

  The magnificent cause of being,

  The imagination, the one reality

  In this imagined world

  Leaves you

  With him for whom no phantasy moves,

  And you are pierced by a death.