by Bud Caywood
Here, the surface is all moon, finally still.
The boats and boom-boxes have all gone
into the evening of Sunday’s laziness.
The lake holds more tightly onto reflections,
sparkles that dance backward to the other shore.
A clap comes from the sandbar.
A fish jumps and slaps back
with something no longer alive in the air.
Author’s Comment: I live on a lake. My house is situated so the back faces east over a wide cove. It has twenty-four windows and one moon.
Bio: Bud Caywood lives and works in Alexander County, NC where he is a freelance furniture design consultant, artist, and writer. His poetry has appeared in many journals and anthologies. He has written one full-length collection of poems, eleven chapbooks.