Let go of those small things. Those off-handed tributaries, those crawlings in your head.
Let go of those squabbling bat-mass tear monuments. Those “let it be”s when you can’t let it be. Those tangled finger snakes.
Let the snow fall. Sit there floating on a cold lily pad;
no matter how far the current pushes you under the water your twindle roots still grasp toward the ground.
So maybe let go of the ground for a bit. Float above for a moment. So maybe let go of what you want.
(But you never let go of what you want, not really.)
(But you never really know how to.)
Maybe it’s like unbraiding hair. Silk fall, tumbling feathers out of a torn pillow. Trying to wipe flour dust from your palms onto your jeans. That’s why it’s never that simple my apple pie.
Because sometimes to let something fall out of…
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