Green wood fire

It smokes and struggles to life at times, my fire, green wood on starting, I bring my raw sides and overawed timbers, I feed it what I can. The organism consumes some of what I feed it, but subterranean caves give onto a nub of something afraid, lost. Afraid of blindness coming down, of some staggering thing living in me, looming.
I would ask, stream, to meet you there in that darkness, to follow through unafraid to where the sea rages and gnaws us all to life.