On understanding letting go

You grant life to the seed,
coax unraveling buds to their need
of eruption from stems,
loose and untie the pregnant hems
of blossoms, seeds, polleneous pits;
whose wide mouths are rapt,
with any number of petaled lips,
screaming until blushed unto Heaven-high
with pink hands raised out far as death is nigh
to the Spring until Winter through that Fall which will lie
them lost to their season

and I, lost.