One day every memory
of whatever night
this is will be gone.
I row out from my fire
and my fire fades
back into spruce.
Silhouettes of high boughs
sink into the ridgeline’s
rising silhouette.
Jupiter’s reflection keeps
smooth pace in water
beside me. Moonrise descends
into this narrow valley.
Cascades fall from my oars
with every lift, the perishing
infinity of a white silver I
never knew water contained.