Letting Go

sometimes you awaken on a morning haunted by darkness
and stark hills crying at the husks of reality that are scattered about
and the naked light forcing its way thru the brittle windowglass
does not carry the barest hint of why things are the way they are

but the new morning is still warming the world with its loving rays
and the fat bees are still kissing the purple blossoms
and the grass is just as crisp and bright as the first morning after
you made love the first time or ran around sweet childhood lands
and the day is just as strangely graceful as any other
and so you berate yourself that you cannot simply appreciate
<things as they are>

and so its about letting go
<at the very same time>
as giving thanks
that the world is as it is
and maybe the best thing to do at such a time
is to try to put your mind back to where it would be
if you had never ever made love to this person who has
become a friend or stranger, nor even thought of it
(or whatever it is you are needing to give up kindly)

just as if you had only met them in a crowded room
and did nothing more than talk awhile and just entertain the thought
that they might be good to get to know a little better

we are a species both blessed and cursed with memory
but sometimes we have to follow it back even further
than it wants to take us

and some of us are blessed with being able to
turn even the worst of times into a dance for the goddess
in the form of another light-drenched afternoon
or gracious evening with pastel accents

peel slowly and calmly
until you hit eruptions of spontaneous innocence and elegance
and enormity of spirit
with strong and salty poetry to light the way

to where you can blossom into hundreds
of bee-kissing flowers again

and are able to calmly see the world only as it is