If the trees can do it, then so can I,
At least that’s what I tell myself.
For if year after year the trees can let go
Of their brightest leaves and that warm autumn glow, Then maybe in time, like trees with their leaves,
I can release
That which keeps me from you.
Maybe in time, I can let go
Of my need for certainty
And my need to look good,
My need for busyness,
And my need to numb pain;
The trivial ways I measure my self-worth,
Or the hurtful ways I measure yours.
For if year after year the trees let go,
Then maybe, in time, I can too.
Maybe,
In time,
My heart will know spring.