Like the Moon

entire, even in shadow 

and storm, obscured

when hung like a rim of ice 

from a glass 

bowl, reflecting 

all the light there is

or will be

surgical, meaning precise and steady

drawing each molecule in 

every liquid phase

closer

without fuss or drama

or even recognized 

as being so

cyclical, in force and appearance

like seasons are 

not rivals 

gravity not the

enemy

time never in

opposition, but

mysterious, as the path

traced in mountain and valley

wave and spruce needle 

a light 

fluent, colorless, untrackable

streaming across meadow to kiss 

even the mouse’s ear