When is time to let go?
Everything comes to an end eventually.
Leaves part from the branches,
nights turn into days, and days strip their clothes for nights.
Breath enters and leaves the body born waiting to die?
But when does it end,
the crackling of wood burning in the fire,
the drop of sweat finding its way down one’s back,
where does it stop?
I ask and hear no answers.
When does that end?
How do I know to let go,
how do I turn the other page,
how do I greet the day that will leave me for a dark night?
How do I write a poem and leave its echoes resonate for eternity?