This place is a clearing.
As in every myth tale
The clearing is the place
Where the hero comes to find
There is more of life to learn.
And he wanted to be here then,
When she was singing,
And sweet words flowed
Straight from her heart
To the tip of her pen.
His longing to say I love your words
And the grief of not being here,
The sadness of missing the songs
Made him fear even looking.
Made him wish he had stayed.
But he was off performing
Or being brave
Or involved in some other
Foolish human endeavor
As we are all inclined to do.
Is it so narcissistic a world
He inhabits with his moods
That he would deny himself
The pleasures of a visit
Or a look, or a listen?
Most of his life is this:
That his ego and fear
Are allied in a war that
Makes his heart sit in a box
And his pleasures run away.
But tentatively, passively
He returns to the clearing.
And sees that the learning
Is always here.
And weeping is today’s lesson.
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