the clearing

---

i can make a path.
i can clear a space—
rid of all trees and debris—
sacred and arcane;

yet i still come
with my name
the burdens—
my pain—

you see,
that’s genuine
to me—

they’ve the lens
through which

i see.

still,
in the stillness,
within this space
forest deep,

cleared of debris,

something—
a wisp-like breeze—
brushed me

feather-like
light, gentle

an itch appeared
and spoke to me

and begged me
not to scratch—

to let it be—

and from that
invitation

in the silence,
in the forest clearing
down the path—

in the deep—

came an epiphany:

what is genuine
to me
shall not confine
what is

genuinely me.

POET’S NOTE:
Part of The Rutted Road collection.

© 2026 Tristan Robert Lange. All rights reserved.