Night descends as
gray velvet pulsates
the skies above me.
I hear the trickle
bouncing off a million leaves,
God's tears cleansing
sacred ground.

There is no dishonor
to be found in this land.
This holy place is
a gift from heaven
& that spirit
still lives
in mason jars.

And if I strain to listen,
I can hear phantom-shiners
howling at the moon
& playing fiddles.