scientists tell us that all water
is old water,
that there is no room for originality,
that everything is recycled.
the anguish of Achilles bleeding out
face-down in the Trojan dirt
mingles with that of a stockbroker caught
in the ebb and flow of the markets,
and what I am trying to say is that the tears
navigating south through the canyons on your face
may have once wet the cheeks
of Alexander the Great
for the same reason.