“The people I love best are the ones who try” – Nancy Pagh, Trying
Perhaps this is my folly: to never try
enough. To let love happen to me as the wind
happens to fall leaves, floating until I am
brought indelibly to the damp soil,
waiting to disintegrate and get consumed
by worms. And yes, knowing now that trying
is a risk, I often cower in place, deep in the
safety of a well protected branch, grateful
to stay hidden in the safety of a storm.
Though, winter as it is, and pain, I wonder
if you’ll see me, finally, inevitably try,
risking disintegration. Letting go.
Wondering at what my father taught me,
has yet to teach, even if the world does
not love us, even love is, after all, just dust.