fifth ekphrastic

Outside, the misty light of the Milky Way is stitched through with constellations. Cassiopeia rises a full ten degrees in the interval as a night fisherman casts, drawing long lines across the dark water, each cast etched an instant then blurring away. A single comet flares in reflection across the still water. At the far end of the lake (where at noon we saw the muscular thrusts of pike) the whole drama of moonrise and set is conducted outside our view. A bat splashes in the cove (lost or thirsty?), fireflies slowly work the shore, fish slap and surface, far off tires hum, everywhere the business of solitude, the constant events of the hidden world. In my memory your gray hair dapples the pillows, streaks of light in late, high clouds. My moon your Chinese secrets are all gone. After moonset rain on water: grinding black powder into ink for the inventory, a farewell to things.

Peace : this is how it will be.