2018.5 Ursa Major

We are in the carpark, looking up;
The sky is smeared with city lights
And I remember a darker, brighter childhood,
Or maybe just sharper eyes.

I spot the Plough, point it out.
It is the only thing I know apart from
Out-of-season Orion.
It would be good to see Cassiopeia,
Caput Draconis, Böotes, remember again
How to nominate North, even to spot my own star sign,
For comedy effect, of course.

We neither of us seem keen to steer away;
Our drifting conversation moves at a
Night-long pace, a deceptively slow 600mph,
Full of distant glimmerings we do our best to
Capture with familiar names and tales of
Faithless lovers, vengeful mothers,
Heroes, followers, and monsters.

How will we navigate these waters?
Column of fire or column of smoke?
Parched and starving,
We drink each other’s laughter,
Eat stories, draw connections - point to point,
Perspectives drawing symbols in what feels like
Holy fire, tonight.

Hushhh, says the city, tires on tarmac,
Even now, even here.
And I want to take you with me to true dark,
Thronged with fox call, owl cry,
Wind aria and chorus of branches, grass, ivy,
Lively with the sky’s wildfire,
Sing songs together to the dark-bright lovers
Who have long-since died,
And grace us with their gasping light.