The task of these days
is the gentle release,
not so much a prying of fingers
as becoming water-like,
slipping through
like current through seaweed,
the lack of thrashing
leaving my ankles free

A kindly goodbye
to the ghosts of unfruitful hopes,
directions untaken, positions outgrown
and a soft reaching forward
towards what is not solid yet,
whisper embrace of what isn’t yet known.

©Wendy Mulhern
April 19, 2017