the source 
of the river of my tears
does not lie 
the ducts of my eyes

it springs 
from a feeling in my heart
of joy
overwhelment of beauty
of love

cascading downstream
to the breath in my chest,
heretofore unnoticed,
otherwise autonomic

on the inhale,
sharpness spreading thickly like 
the fascia of a muscle
searing my anahata

the breath becomes pain
and before the exhale,
the tears begin 
to flow