Darkness enters the water.
The water casts luminous ripples
on what is and is not moving.
Nothing. Not one thing as ordinary,
or as extraordinary, as tree, leaf, cattail,
bulrush, or smooth gray river rock tiptoes
toward us, or whispers, “Hello.”
Heads bowed, we watch the moon thread
itself through thin rails or wet light,
its beauty cruel and indifferent.
Third Prize, Mendocino Coast Writers’ Conference. Published in Noyo River Review, Vol. 6