The art of
letting go
is learned slowly,
year after year
like the crumbling of stucco,
a building slowly succumbing
to ivy's embrace,
a pile of last year's
fallen memories
crunched down by your leaving feet,
light bleeding away
from an evening sky
while you watch;
or just
crying until there's no tears left,
so what's the use when
your eyes have run dry;
sometimes, like
gauze you could see through
pulled from a wound that
won't heal.
Jon Bohrn (1998)



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