The moment

It begins as a trickle
a timid irregular leak dripping softly
pulsing-tapping-beating
into the silence
against heavy pretense-walls
(strong but never without flaws)
walls may crack
or crumble.

trickles course down
across-over-through
forming rivers of stone walls
the pulsing veins of a moment’s weakness
like quicksilver
or ink
or blood

i am not strong
or without flaws
these walls may falter-crack-crumble
trickles become rivers become tides
pulsing-tapping-beating
now steady in the yearning
against a weakening façade
stone worn smooth
and
raindrops echo dankly
a sound of frozen panic
peace disturbed
and
these seeping trickles gather
pulsing-dripping-burning
in the acid cold against stone walls

and
in the chaos-surrender
the walls are overborne,
overcome, by
maybe tears maybe ink maybe blood
quicksilver life that trickles
drowning pretenses
washing over semi-permanence
gushing through a second’s flaw
overcome, by
a torrent of streaming panic
(all my walls are falling down)
overcome
in an instant

for in the moment’s weakness
walls may crack
or crumble