Let Go That Weight

A mourning dove preens herself
on the shingled roof.
Rainwater still on everything.
Out on the balcony, the morning light
is sturdy. I can no longer
think I’m a perfect
person somehow being
imperfect. No, simply:
I’m struggling. I don’t know
how to do this. But I
am part of this sunny,
cool, rainwater morning.
And perfectionism, a weight
to be placed down.

written May 18, 2025