Waiting for the Moon

Beneath a canopy of trees
so green it hurt my eyes,

I was afraid.
The sharp grass crackled,
then withered underfoot.
Stepping gingerly on
the parched & cracked
path that leads only away from

Dark against the bright world,
this melancholy place
overgrown. The atmosphere close;
I want to scream.
No space between the trees for sound.
Creaking, rotten,
the darkness of the wood.
Nothing to do
but go on loving you