The Clearing

When I feel quiet, when I feel blue

The world opens up and gives me a clue

Most times I can’t see the forest through the trees

They’re etched by the memories of red autumn leaves

They fell long ago, eroding into dirt

Now cake on my feet distract from the bud’s flirt

My sallow-hued eyes pass over the sky

And land upon the horizon’s constant lie

That a clearing is ahead, where dandelions bloom

And bears’ noses are tickled by the mockingbird’s plume

The shadows cast over the thin forest floor

Covering the stoned path that leads to the door

That is adorned by a wreath of pungent dogwood

Beckoning if I could follow my nose, I should

If only I would trust that beautiful stench

The clearing’s promise I would find in a cinch

Stumbling through the darkness I search for a scent

That might be the clue to the door for which I am meant

Alone we are born, alone we embrace death

We have only these days with each other to share our breath