things take shape in us suddenly
and let us go just as suddenly

these days of tender leaves remind us
the doves, too, racing like comets across the sky
as if to say, there is no miracle 
other than this

and as for you
do you have the grace to let go
of that which has let go of you?

do you walk as wildflowers, 
skipping over cracks in the pavement as you go?
do you grab onto the lighting 
with both hands? 
do you stir the soup clockwise and 
greet the trees and walk lightly 
over the small things? 

never forgetting that
out of the dust
you, too, rise