The leaves.
The leaving.
The way we feel
aspects of ourselves
used up
dropping off.
Effort to ease.
Change is what
we fear
and yet pine for
above all.
The end of resistance.
Or thoughts that
cycle back
repeating errors
in the code.
The leaves.
The leaving.
They have it right.
Over and done with.
Inching through
the underbrush,
the overgrowth of
untended dreams
progressively transformed
into weeds that choke
relentlessly
the surrounding structures.
I cannot sleep
because of these muses
that moved me
so many years ago.
Viruses of inspiration
flaring up,
itchy and feverish.
Their message clear
unhinging me
from my latency.
“Find your way to more.
More of all this
beauty that you love.
Befriend the weeds,
take hold of them
cord-like, strong as ropes
guiding you
through the blindness
of your overwhelm and melancholy
toward your forgotten
treasures.”
amber samaya 