The Beauty of Letting Go

To decipher the art
of letting go of an egg in my palm
was to decipher the art of love.
Any tighter and it will submit
into a thousand tiny breaches
crumbling, dissolving,
into a yolk not ready for light.

Should I release my cramping fingers,
should it tumble over my smoothed palm,
then it will drip and ebb
into cracks of linoleum,
Will I not have to clean a mess
of my own making either way?

But I didn’t ask to hold this egg.
And so I release it into a carton
and simply decipher the beauty
of letting go.


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