The Tear

I discovered the sun
as an eruption through the crusted air.
With delicacy of touch
a hand lays it within the seam of my coat pocket.
This world is in ruin
and my mind plummets.
Amidst this chaos,
can there be clarity, some relief?
I've lived in this
this destruction, obstruction, a disjunction.
Wind in my lungs,
stale from the cresting oceans of garbage.
Stench of my hands,
reeked of waste, work and sweat.
Can relief be so simple
as to be found in this lining pressed to my chest?
And, if so,
shall I share it?
Temptation beckons;
“Happiness cannot be compromised.
Once found,
the fleetingly fond public turns fickle.
They turn to greed,
asking for more, more, and more.
It is best to confine it
to your own use and practice.
Your neighbors
need not know.”
My right hand
reaches toward my breast.
Supposing the form of my find
I, instead, discover the cloth bare.
The palm stays put
pacing the increasing thud of my heart.