At the root,
All tears return

Black water below,
Black branches above,
The tree does not answer
But it remembers love

Before the village had a name,
Before the chapel bell,
There stood a tree on the northern hill
Where wounded stories dwell

It drank no rain from passing storms,
No river, spring, or sea
It drank the salt from human eyes,
And grew from memory

No axe could make its silence break,
No fire could make it plead
For Lachryma was born to bloom
From what the grieving need

Bring it your grief,
Bring it no lie
Bring it the name
You cannot let die

Kneel by the mere,
Let one tear fall
The water shows almost,
The tree hears all

Lachryma, Lachryma,
Tearfed, ancient tree
Drink what the living cannot bear,
But do not set them free

Lachryma, Lachryma,
Root of salt and bone
You never give the lost ones back,
Yet no one weeps alone

You bloom what cannot be undone,
You ring what has no tongue
You keep the names the world lets fall,
You sing what stays unsung

A bride came veiled in winter white,
One flower woke from snow
A mother called through seven years,
The red fruit split below

A saint refused a king his peace,
Gold leaves revealed the stain
An orphan cried into the bark,
The bell began its pain

A queen read names against the storm,
Salt leaves shone through the rain
A minstrel laid his silence down,
The branches sang again

A child once wept to save the moon,
Blue mercy lit the skies
A widow tasted one sweet fruit,
Then dawn took back her eyes

White flower,
Red fruit,
Golden leaf,
Ringing root

Salt and song,
Moon and dream,
Nothing returns
As whole as it seems

I am not the gate of heaven
I am not the mouth of hell

I do not pardon kings
I do not raise the dead
I do not make the wound forget
The shape by which it bled

I am the root beneath the sob
I am the bark around the name
I am the place where grief survives
Without becoming shame

Give me the tear
That has nowhere to go

I will not make it painless
I will make it grow

A daughter touched the bitter bark,
And names began to climb
No law could scrape their letters off,
No verdict mastered time

Two lovers poor as winter dust
Had nothing left to sow
Yet door-shaped leaves grew from the branch
Where parted voices go

The mere below still shows the face
That fingers cannot keep
The water gives an almost-life,
Then folds itself to sleep

But high above the blackened glass,
The branches hold the rain
And every tale that starts in loss
Comes back as leaf again

Lachryma, Lachryma,
Tearfed, ancient tree
Drink what the living cannot bear,
But do not set them free

Lachryma, Lachryma,
Root of salt and bone
You never give the lost ones back,
Yet no one weeps alone

Lachryma, Lachryma,
Let the white flower stay
Let the red fruit keep
The names beneath the clay

Lachryma, Lachryma,
Let the salt leaves shine
Let the lost song play
Where moon-blue mercies climb

Lachryma, Lachryma,
Let the names arise
Let the doors close gently
Between the earth and sky

At the root of the tearfed tree,
There lies a mirror black and still
I saw your face beneath the rain,
But did not touch the water’s will

I left one tear for what was lost,
One tear for what may never be
And when I turned away at dawn,
A leaf was growing out of me

At the root,
All tears return

The tree does not answer
But it remembers love

Lachryma...
grow