An afternoon with Poetry

This clearing, this space
Feels burnt
Exposed
Brush moved, brush extinguished
Ground left bare now turned cold

I wade through jagged daylight
Wait in anxious sleep
In need of clear navigation

This clearing – silent
Be my own
Warm
A swelling that attracts, that breathes
Air pregnant with loud candor

If I throw open the screen
Over my cracked soul
Music could rush in once more