The Saline Map of the Retreating Tear

A transparent veil, slow and profound,
spreads on the glass, an ephemeral lake.
Its weight has no echo, nor a sound
of a ship that crosses its black wake.
A moment of world contained, dense,
a mute mirror of intangible sense.

Then the sun, or a breath light and absorbed,
calls it to heaven, dissolving its edge.
The boundary unravels, becomes a harbor
for an absence that silences every pledge.
A drop withdrawing, drying its weeping,
leaving in relief its ancient enchantment.

And where there was volume, now is a design,
a white arabesque, a fragile weave.
Microscopic kingdom, a silent sign
of crystals that history makes retrieve.
A saline map, of lights and shadows cast,
etched in the silence among the vast.