The clearing

In my mind

a clearing:

come, visit it with me.

You need an invitation to enter,

and an act of faith

that no lasting harm will come,

though I cannot promise ease of passage.

The path towards it will enclose you,

as deep forest might;

even in summer the light is perpetually anorexic.

There is no sound

and the silence causes a yearning

you might recognize

but be unable to define.

The clearing can be difficult to find,

and in the sense that it is hidden,

when you find it, offers a form of grace

you thought was lost.

It has taken me almost a lifetime

to find a space I want to share,

so come, visit with me.

Come with empty hands

for there is enough here to fill you up

- or not --

and that is something you must prepare for --

a strange emptiness

as if you had suddenly been emptied out.

It is a passing sensation

and not to be feared.

But this is the point at which you must decide

if you wish to retrace your steps

to the entrance.

(I have done so many times)

If you leave, a rustle of leaves

will erase evidence of your temporary occupation,

reclaim any thoughts you left behind.

You won't remember

your hurried goodbye.

For a while

you may suffer a sense of having misplaced something

and if this should drive you to want to revisit,

the invitation will still be there.