Truce

I give up.

The night is rushing toward me
with no regard to the activity
in my heart and mind.
The darkness might plunder the day
of all the gifts of the sun again,
but I am not disappointed.

My hands are up
in prayer over my head
and rest over my heart
until I surrender everything
to rust and disappear
into the air

evaporate into the mist
of these hills.

Instead of negotiating a truce
I will fly away
before I am captured
by my fear and losses.

Before I admit
that there is nothing
to hand over
in the end
but my will
to control
what is not there.