Let Me

For a time I had a glimpse; let me grieve.

Let me see sunlight set the forest ablaze with weeping red-gold light. Let me dig fingernails into my own arm as I offer prayers in the doorless chapel. Let my place be altered, my gaze lifted from poverty.

Your reflection is now a black panther pacing in the night. My archness unredeemed. Please take these letters away and burn all trace of vitality because now I can only echo from here.

I'm going to bleed for a while. Let me. Let me mark every fallen leaf as a farewell I never could ordain. Let October strip and surrender to what is next.

Acres of fields now yellow and bend, and the haze of woodsmoke climbs as a testimony of need. Fewer wrens twitter and tilt on the ever green arms of the backyard pines. I've visited the pine forest since we last spoke only to determine that there is no interpretation for the whispers. How soft the cinnamon floor! How hushed everything is that I have left. . .

So now let me empty the cistern. Let me move the cool water meant for our becoming. Let it drain upon the land in a place I love the most.