As summer leans into the fall,
as sunflowers that lose all
their petals—though it takes
some time. As rhyme
that slips toward normal speech.
As evening drifting toward the night.
And when you’re really sure
you’re right, let go as snow evaporates,
as puddles dry, as clouds
disperse, as waves unwave,
as light rehearses shadow.
And if you’re still sold
you are right, then practice
quietude. Like dirt. Like
bark. Like pearl. Like grass.
Like the moon, so dark, so new.