Closness. Space

Accepting Loss, moving on,

I love the closeness, and the space,

Holding tight, letting go,

like a ship's mooring line when the sea ebes and flows,

Loose loops of rope,

Wrapped many times around a post,

Corse yellow strands against ware polished metal,

 

During storms, each pull of the sea reinforces the bond,

The rope and the iron cleat interwoven and meshed, 

Squeezed hard and locked together

Though only through friction

Because In the calm, when the pull subsides; the knot, a loose grip. 

A partner's sleeping hand, with fingers intertwined, 

Easily prised away, Giving space to move.

The bond weakened, but not broken,

Like that sleeping hand, so easily removed, 

But only to lift back into place, once lying the other way.