Launching from the wooded hills east of the lake
on the heels of a heartache sunset,
a sanguine, ruddy Hunter’s Moon rises
into an unencumbered sky freckled with early stars
the air, autumn-fresh and chilled.
The glassy black water of the lake so perfectly still,
still as if on a thick August night,
So I wonder if the splash of light from the moon reflected
could cause ripples on the perfect, still water.
The deer should wonder too
about this ruddy Hunter’s Moon.
But like me
they will likely only stare.