Beneath the brackish
dome of night
s|he sates an unusual thirst.

S|he stalks the roosts
of the unwitting
and tastes greedily
of their tears.

S|he visits me
in a space between
visions and the unseen

The proboscis gouges
my lacrimal gland like
a lepidopterist pinning
a monarch’s wings

S|he drains my cache
of anguish and  departs
for another with
more hydrated corneas.

Now when my insides
churn and my eyes strain
and fail to leak catharthis,

I wonder if
s|he’s out there

crying for me.