Freeform
A little bit of freeform poetical grooving for those of you inclined to partake:
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During daylight these trees are nothing but glitter,
some architect’s sugary coating,
a seemingly-natural shield for residents
against the reality of the highway
just beyond,
just behind.
But let dusk accept its perpetual failure to hold,
allow night to settle, darkness filling the spaces
like flood waters seeping through discolored cement,
subsuming pockets of air,
subjugating; dominating light,
then the pines and maples and birch
become a wall, an impenetrable line.
Ferns hold the foreground, bright green leaves
waving, menacing daggers, forming the bulk
of the undergrowth, the resilient horde.
Stare long enough into the black spaces,
looming between branches,
and one can almost ignore the whine and hum
of the traffic beyond, the seismic rumble
of eighteen-wheelers decelerating down the off-ramp,
of overdone stereos’ tribal thumping,
of glass-packed growling motorcycle exhaust,
and imagine that this line of trees will stand;
that this formation of branch and dark can stave off
the inevitable burst of humanity sprawling
at the edges of artificial sodium light.
