A midnight shimmer, 

the full moon’s shine lake-

side brings the alderwood 

valley to false dawn.

 

A fish—unclear what

from a distance—leaps 

from the water, 

a suffocating quarter second, 

 

trusting to (let’s say) a trout’s 

arcane faith in gravity’s

logistical power, buoyancy be damned.

 

Piercing the surface again, 

an intimation of (re)birth,

as clouds wash over the moon,

returning the valley to sleep.