last night after the baseball game
Rodney suggested we stop by the bay
to look at the moon on the water
I love when nature catches his eye
our gaze is synchronized
our hearts beat for the same reasons:
dark night, wet grass, water sounds,
sand still warm from the summer day,
the pregnant moon hangs heavy
a white slice on the placid bay
I watch as he steps in
past the shards of broken shells that line the shore
until he is knee deep in moon glow
his frame reflects on the surface
an imperfect attempt at playing card symmetry
my king of the bay
this night is for him
his quiet energy casts ripples
one affecting the next
soft, wet metaphors
of all his good deeds
they disappear outside the moonlight
but we know they are still there
those endless crests and troughs
such is the anatomy of a ripple effect
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