A Night in Greenville

In the sunken land beneath the forests open trenches and
above the soil,

Of all of the branches and pine cones on and off the highway
playing games and toying.

There are secrets unseen and
trains whistling in between
that go unnoticed.

What are other unfallen treasures in the forest that can be heard?

The train rumbles and choos closer while the fire
crackles in the late dusk.

The train pushes against the steel leaving a hum behind
almost like a helicopter passing while the flames
die down in a short amount of time
dimming on an imaginary timeline of grace.

There are enough grandparent trees to conceal most of the stars.

Enough to count until braving the open sky.

Birds have gone to sleep after singing the blooms good night
and soon come morning, there will be the reply.

The wind is hushed.

Invisible as it may,
hanging pine needles are not spared by the push
of the passing by gusts.

Supporting the rise and fall of the debris and dust.

Morning is not far off.

The eagerness of tomorrow presses up against the cusp
separating dawn and dusk
like oil and water.

Passing through the precipice is a journey through
delirium and anticipation.

Surviving another night speaks volumes when at the heel of unknown in the darkness of trees.

The wind has moved on and no more falling kindling.

The fire has put a pause to the dancing and laughing and simply glows in the night breathing warmth near.

It's nearly time to accept tomorrow as now and continue on.

Until the flames dissipate entirely this
moment merely is dependent on the
fleeting seconds holding on. 

~Tina Meeks