wooden barrels, dark sweating wood, aged and stained with rum.
tears like a leak would weep out an almost perfectly circular hole on it's side.
and it will pour and pour,
crashing waves of water over the dock,
it would wash away all the ladybugs and leaves as if a tsunami had imposed on a small worldly terrain.
and it will sting.
crisp waves as paper and foil, thin and practically weightless.
and they barrel over the edge and plunge down into the ocean.
and they will sink and sink.
with wisdom and whispers.
