Glacial irritations from centuries of living together:
the way you let the tap run
while brushing your teeth,
indiscreet toss of a tuna can, flushed tampon.
All these could be forgiven –
is it a necessity that love dries up?

You will rage, remember old wounds,
typhoon affairs, monsoons of grief,
the betrayal of being so lightly held,
the daily brutality of always wanting more.

At the end, even the trees will take sides,
the earth crack, the few drops left shed
in tears. But you. You will have
your clear plastic memories rolling
across the unending beach.


—Rhonda Douglas, Some Days I Think I Know Things: The Cassandra Poems

Water Will Leave You, Like a Lover (Third Prophesy)