|
|
| TALGO |
| 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) |
