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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.

The years have passed but still when night slinks in
and sheets are pulled up tight to chin and clutched
while sleep revolves and spins, despite the din
of bottles breaking, (booze: my final crutch),
I pray the noise will free me from my dreams,
To save me from the memory, the past
Surreal (at least in here you’re sweet, it seems),
It leaves me drained, I greet your ghost aghast
That decades pass and yet you still exist,
A faded version, amber hair gone gray,
But strong enough to wrench my sleep, to twist
Old blades with hunter’s eyes, I’m naught but prey.
Awake to morning sun through dirty shades.
Alone and whole, your specter slowly fades.