Aren’t you tired of being 
so bitter? So shot through with veins of green 
that you can’t help but crumple in?
No one deserves this, and it would be best to step away, 
but how are you to recede without 
falling wholly backwards into the night?

Allow a quiet morning, a breath of holly on your palm, 
and drop the reins you fastened so foolhardily to the wind.
It will wash you clean, if you let it, if you can remember 
how it once did.

There isn’t weakness in solitude, there is 
a soft blue stolidness that frames 
your being and sends it soaring
over sparkling waters.