The night smoothes out its black tarp,
by Ron Rash
tacks it to the sky with stars.
Lake waves slap the bank, define
a shoreline as one man casts
his seine into the unseen,
lifts the net's pale bloom, lets spill
of threadfin fill the live well.
Soon that squared pool of water
flickers as if a mirror,
surfaces memory of when
this deep water was a sky.