V for Surrender

It’s not a question of letting go but of never having had hold. It’s not a question.

Our hands are empty often and at best only transfer, never own. Possession is

nine tenths of illusion. Hands operate as points lines use to reach points-next.

We might say all lives are way-stations to nowhere: The I passes through the Me,

connecting points to point of ceasing-to-be. In a related story, animals

demonstrate how to live fully engaged even at rest and without ambition, careers

being a quaint human invention. Will is quite the contraption, too—the right tool for a few

jobs but misapplied in most— an anvil in a solarium. And so again this Fall

I'll read the geese. I will be thinking V as they are knowing fly. I'll “let them go.”