Instead

Yet another transmogrification of “Let” by Joan Houlihan.
This one, however, is not mean-spirited.


Let a stick-figure click its insect needles of lightning
to sew soft thoughts, deliberately crush, take, finally owning.
The way grew rigid, to pull off the rife uselessness of flies.
Let one piece shrivel, multiplied between finger and thumb.
Let rain rinse the rest, the morning grass, the tropical sky.
Then I brought the lilies inside—out, they have no standing.
The wish is mine. I strive on; let each release its slow sun,
let the blue August evening make myself walk away in their place.

©2006 F.J. Bergmann

"Instead" appeared in The Binnacle 2007

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