In That Clearing Bright Poem by Mark Heathcote

Fake tears in a dark wood dream
Of a seamless summer
And a warm, soft, serpentine wind
With a feathery touch
That dries those eyes weeping suspiciously.

And in the core of that wood
There is an area all flattened and light
Where fireweed grows in winter turns to gold.
It's here I feel like I'm at the centre of the universe
And a jarred beautiful heart has burst open to a lover.

Oh, in that clearing bright day or night
I never fear what spirits crawl
It's as if the rest of the world in all its might
must be an illusion and is infinitely small
And has its back up against a wall.

And I've been given wings to leave the ground and explore.
Turn over every stone and weep truthfully like never before.