LETTING GO

From the arch 

of an ardor

above me, 
from the weave 

of the climbing rose
all around, 

this little one
fell upon my knee.

Its whispered landing
took me

out of the book
I was reading

about the grief
of the Earth.

As I hung suspended
in my hammock-chair

inside this 
vined haven

I wondered:
was this tiny leaf,

this little 
letting go,

a reminder
that I could 

let some small
tightly held

part of myself,
twisting in spirit,

go, as easily as
the Earth sheds

its slender
green surrenderings?