A clear night, 2 a.m., the September
full moon a bright companionable sphere.
As I step into the river in high rubber waders
it drifts on the current, glints
and scatters among the ripples.
A back-eddy pool gathers its shape,
reflects the white light up to my face
then through the lens, while all around me
the boreal forest is spires of lacy black.