The Clearing

In the clearing

Blank space permeates my veins.

The voice
still at the core

             Sways with the wind,

And shines in the light.

Chaotic perfection

Cannot be documented,

                  Analyzed, or judged.

Only the sun
 understands the roots.

I put my pen down, 

Pick up a leaf, and
Trace my fingers along the
Fading veins.

I let it go

And realize:
The leaf and I
Are kindred spirits


Inspired by blank morning space.