the well

When there is no place to rest,
find relief in the true longing
of your heart for what is good
and the knowledge that you can cry pure tears.
It is the softness in which you are wholly weak,
and know it.
It is not the weakness that struggles vainly to prove itself,
that calls names and shouts blame,
that coddles and apologizes
for the nearness of the struggle.
It is from that one deep well,
that place where grief seeps into the stones

and falls into your lap,
brief
and blameless.