Turns out it’s not too much to ask
to be formed anew each day,
to let all my being be the fountain
of the surge of my source, all of it
determined by its power, its essence,
its choice, moment by moment

All my artifice washes away
in the first rush. I try to be tender
in teaching myself to let go
of what my fists are holding,
to let the cleansing stream
course through my fingers
and not hold anything but the experience
of the standing wave of me.

©Wendy Mulhern
January 6, 2022