Clearing

by Morgan Fairley

I am clearing a space

here, where the trees stand back.

I am making a circle so open

the moon will fall in love

and stroke these grasses with her silver.

I am setting stones in the four directions,

stones that have called my name

from mountaintops and riverbeds, canyons and mesas.

Here I will stand with my hands empty,

mind gaping under the moon.

I know there is another way to live.

When I find it, the angels

will cry out in rapture,

each cell of my body

will be a rose, a star.

If something seized my life tonight,

if a sudden wind swept through me,

changing everything,

I would not resist.

I am ready for whatever comes.

But I think it will be

something small, an animal

padding out from the shadows,

or a word spoken so softly

I hear it inside.

It is dark out here, and cold.

The moon is stone.

I am alone with my longing.

Nothing is happening

but the next breath.