You can’t see the sunset from the forest. Not really,
just a strip of orange behind a green and black stamped
sky, but oh, oh, the spot where the canopy opens.
From there, you can see the universe beyond a velvet leafed skylight.
Somewhere nearby, a father explains stars to his wildling daughter.
Those four stars, those three. Connect them. Can you see a bowl,
the handle? Uninterested, she runs off hunting fireflies.
Last year, we came later in September. The moon came out
of hiding much swifter than tonight aligning itself with an
old oak, a break in its branches, shining right onto the campfire.
It warmed with the wood you split with your hatchet. And the flicker
and twitch of flames curled up into smoke to tickle our eyes before
rolling on and up, up through the trees chasing starlight.
The moon is hidden tonight and fall’s chill sneaks ever closer.
You have wandered off somewhere for kindling and the dog followed.
I sit in a sinking camp chairs trying to connect three stars to four.
Danielle Fleming was born and raised in Indianapolis, Indiana, but currently lives and writes in Louisville, Ky where she lives with her husband and works as a therapist often using stories and poetry in her work with clients. She can be found on Instagram as @havendf or twitter @danismalley10
Featured image by Danielle Fleming
