Off the two-track
to nowhere important
sun retreats into forest,
the day kilned and left to cool,
no longer malleable.

Yet light dominates
veil of night:
embellished by myth and meaning
bulls and bears roam
herded and hunted
on overhead canvas
painted with pin
dipped in glimmer.

Father, son converge
under dappled dome,
dissolve, droplets of dust
in an ocean of star-wonder,
anchored by occasional trailing beacons – 
planes, satellites – 
whispers of self-significance.

In the thinning spring eve,
they stare, mesmerized
by yellow-orange tongues
that flicker, crackle,
reach out, lick at the darkness,
taste the flavors
of a precious life.

Do they talk?
	of the Tigers,
	where fish strike,
	where black flies bite?
Do they dream?
	of a past fallen away,
	present unclaimed,
	future unframed?
Do they wonder
under canopy of stars
what star lies under?

©2017 Kenneth W. Arthur