Tell me when to stop
planting flowers that breathe with me.
Tell me when I’ve bought
my last pair of shoes,
enough paper
to write all the notes and poems
I will ever write.
Tell me when New Year resolutions
no longer matter.
Tell me to stop collecting things,
seashells, coins, taking pictures.
Tell me to stop being shy,
and tell people how dear they are,
how bright they make the day.
Tell me it’s all right now
to talk to myself
and doors that let me in,
trees that let me talk to them
uninterrupted.
Tell me to stop wasting time
answering phones,
or keep your peace and let me stay,
until everything runs out of time,
and no one, or anything,
needs to say good-by.