they stay

I watch myself
hold on
to some things,
even as I let them flow,
even as I let them go
like water
through the creases
of these palms,
they stay
like the unseen skin
of a water drop
cleaving to this human skin,
not willing to go,
not because
of a persistent love,
unwilling to die,
but because of its wetness,
its essence,
distilled
from its glory
of wanting to be
nothing,
in everything.