Torn Tears

Drawn to tears.
Ann anchor weighs down the water.
Streaming like mini sobs down in erroded paths.
There is no laughing here.
Encased by people.
Shudder. Sob.
Hide it as a cough, a chuckle.
Curled to a cube behind the waterfall.
The beaver roars.
I sneak back to my hiding place.
A peculiar one it is, right in the open.
Replace the warning signs' chains.
They bind me.
I cannot let them in, no matter how much ice is tromped.
Perhaps in the future the  iron shall snap - like frozen rubber, brittle and broken shall become.
Squooshed in a closet full of finery.
A stranger sits on my lap. My foot falls asleep.
The boat sounds a horn - loud and blaring the siren sounds.
I wake up.
Was I dreaming? Or just exaggerating?
Either way the waves slap on land and across my face.
OK OK I'm awke now! I will go back to the present. Tears may not reign.
Chains have drawn up the anchor.
The moment past in a flick of the nail.
The card goes flying, but unlike the colorful figures...no one notices.
Silence prevails.