Imagine a man

standing in the frame of a doorway

looking out from his well-lit kitchen

into the dark yard beyond

where summer is still emerging from the mud

Imagine the bare branches of a large tree

stretched across the night sky

stars visible above the streetlamps

beyond the scattered light from the open door

Imagine one possible star

light shooting out in streams

like a divided searchlight

sparks flying out into the night

from that distant campfire

Imagine that particular comet

like a Victoria Day sparkler

writing its signature on the indifferent sky

for that one man

standing at the edge of his home

dreaming himself into the dark

Imagine yourself

in that silence

Imagine you are imagining an artist

Paterson Ewen in particular

balanced on two sawhorses

routing out the trail of a comet

across the expanse of two sheets of plywood

Imagine you are imagining him

imagining himself in the centre of that wonder

making it real by his activity

brushstrokes etched in the indifferent wood

going against the grain

simply by revealing it

Imagine his playful work assumes the exact shape of your longing

the artist constructing just enough skin

between himself and the world

Imagine the man gazing back into his kitchen

seeing it from the dark yard

he willingly entered

only moments before