Crackling green wood
clinging shriveled brown leaves
popping and burnt wildly.
A flame just to sit beside me,
Frogs with the curious voices of men speak masked in treeline.
Just a few, but they’re creeping in.
A rattling at the door from the inside, a feline,
truly getting comfortable in her windowsill,
Listen to the soldier. The guard. The dog barking across the yard.
Imaginary shifting feet and postures.
Hostile, even toward darkness,
And ignorance especially.
Then there is howling casting base crescendos through the further distance.
Car horns sound in an instant and echo off brick walls.
In her driveway, a neighbor taking a call.
A hyper owl, and close, fluctuating cricket sounds.
Then fire again.
Illuminating a flickering page,
consuming an old pine log,
All the noisy young green wood is burnt up. Gone.
This is the stage when flame takes a heavy piece of wood,
and makes it light