let go

in the backyard of my ship
there’s a tiny wooden elf
pretty confident and hip,
all immersing in itself

little elf, we’ve met before
maybe previous of lives
i remember wooden door
he who enters it survives

just like Hatter, equal mad,
i was drinking up the jars,
overthinking all i had,
faintly dreaming of the stars

you were wise, i dare to guess,
very likely to let go,
not attached to emptiness,
holding strings of puppet show

teeny tiny puppet men,
all precisely at your hand
are you sure you really can
make them work at your command

sails need mending, men will work,
knots of real human veins
dressed up well to build a cirque
heavens know what it contains

i’ve the scissors, you shall know,
one, two, three, and strings will rip
each of them deserves to go
you deserve to get some sleep