Release

Perhaps you're right
about letting things be—
since nothing can stop
the tug that scatters 
all the tiny florets from
the crepe myrtle trees,
as if they were stars
unloosed from their
constellations. 
And nothing 
can keep the nests
that fall  
from shredding, 
or the scent
of our fingers
from making them 
uninhabitable. 
I've been trying
so long to step
ahead of change,
believing one
more gesture 
might make 
that difference. 
The roots
of things go
deep into the soil
beyond any sky
that I can see, 
yet younger
tendrils escape 
into their 
own design. 

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