Rising over Weesuck Creek
That only Ralph Blakelock
Could fully appreciate
A smudge through the clouds
Concentric circles of charcoal
Bleeding into maroon
A muted display of lunar glory
If I ever did see one
A fish breaks the surface
In the middle of the Creek
Much like the Drala of Life
It all happens much too fast
And much like the moonlight
More distinct in its watery reflection
Than in the first hand
Experience thereof
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