With all the grace
I can carry
from the insides of my heart
I will try
opening my hands
as I feel the distance grow.

For you,
for me.

One finger at a time,
slowly
and still
unsurely,
the tight dark grip
will lift

like the daffodils
in Washington Park
up the hill
in warm Spring.

With all the courage
I can find
from the deepest parts of me
I will try
sitting still
as I watch you float away.

For me,
for you.

Out my open arms.