on the river

the moon reflected

fractured and rebuilt

by the movement of the water

only to be fractured and rebuilt again


in the summer-evening still

apologies for waves

lap at the punt


it feels poetic

as if ancient others

transported here

would be able to wane

more graciously than the moon


is this the stuff of power

and immortality

the prize of being able to create

something immutable


in the empty boat

his hands freeze

the water on the pole

especially cold tonight


he passes the willow overhang

where once he was entangled

and she laughed


misfortune or ineptitude

he cannot decide

knowing only that he feels

more vulnerable than before

hearing her laughter in the lapping water

seeing her eyes in the shattered reflection

of the broken moon