Posts Tagged ‘letting go’


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.

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Without A Map



Silly me, I thought the boat was empty.

Thought there was no one else here to paddle

or steer. Thought I was alone and too small

to reach the rudder, too weak to lift

the great oars, somehow not seeing

the sea itself as captain, the sea itself as crew,

its waves carrying me places I never knew I needed

to go until, on that strange new shore, I found

myself exactly where I needed to be,

shipwrecked and wildly alive.

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after the curtain call

the mind still rehearsing

how to shine

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One More Layer




after shedding all these skins

still saying to the cherry blossom

teach me how to let go

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Praise the tree as we throw

its branches into the fire,

the needles once green

now brilliant, now ash,

and praise the flames

that consume. Praise

the small hands that

toss the old boughs

and the squeals as the blaze

blazes higher. Praise

the empty space

in the room where all

we see is absence

of tree. Praise the darkness—

that canvas for light

that invites us

to find in ourselves

something to burn.

It’s a cold world.

What are we willing

to offer?

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One Lament




In the ragged purr of the cat

in my lap I hear all the sun

she has yet to curl into,

all the mice she has yet

to chase, all the days

we don’t have left.

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In Knots



I’ve spent years learning to tie the monkey’s fist,

wrapping the long working end of the rope

around the fingers of my hand. While rocking

and nursing and feeding and soothing, I’ve held

the first set of turns in place, then made three more turns

with the rope. While reading and chasing and

swinging and catching, I’ve learned to pass the end

through the inside of the knot, to make turns inside

other turns. And pull it all tight, just so.


I have wanted to perfect this heaving line knot,

something I might use to throw to my son

to save him when he drifts away.

I have practiced the art of the throw, but it seems

I have tied my own hands by accident.

And now that it’s time to untether the line,

my hands want only to practice what they know,

holding on, holding on, holding on,

how clumsy this new art, letting go.

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unable to hold things together

I open my hands, let everything drop

and feel how the world holds me

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Like a boot takes the shape

of the foot that wears it, I imagine

my hand might come to take the shape

of yours, your hand—something

I was made to hold, made to move with,

made to let go.

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Three Transpositions





is it one small child

or the whole world

I cradle




this longing

to bring you a small bouquet

of possibilities




my limbs a clef,

I circle the changing

song of you


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