Waiting for the sky
to uncover the stars
in strings of white light
as the air cools,
the forest settles,
sunlight fades, white
of the blank page
blinding.
I am alone to the point
these woods are mine,
far beyond the arc of firelight,
radio station descending
into static as ions relax.
Chipmunks flee to bush,
tails erect like middle fingers;
brave mosquito buzzing my ear,
whispering it was unaware
this kingdom is mine, that my will
steers its destiny;
if I decide to do nothing,
I still choose to leave its life
in the hands of chaos,
nailed to the door
like a thesis.
I look at the clouds above;
there will be no stars tonight.
Published in Collected Poems, 2016
©2016, Dan Schell, Flex Your Head Books