Steve Klepetar
Her Moonlight Peace
She keeps her moonlight peace by
lakeside,
flat rock shimmering liquid pearl out
over
water, and bullfrogs courting in the
deep
weeds. She keeps her moonlight
peace.
Splash of fish beneath the lake's cold
skin.
Something rises and withdraws. She
keeps
her moonlight, holds it translucent in
her
trembling bag of shells. Unseen, she
casts
the spell of snakes, feels what's
hidden
all through the nerves of her
sensuous neck. She
casts the spell of owls. Moonlight
brands her brow; she utters the
hushed spells
of water mist and sedge, of cattail
lily pad
and rush. Floating in humid dark,
she holds
her moonlight still. With whispered
words
and hands like water jars or woven
baskets
of cherry, grape and pear, with
supple
hands ale as wings, and eyes emptied
of color, she keeps her moonlight
peace.
Knowing every secret ripple in the
writhing
wind, she spreads the fibers of night.
She keeps her moonlight calm, she
keeps
her throbbing peace. Without haste
she
gently rubs her arms and waits.
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