That's the moon come down to drink, that apparition on the water. Or it's the milk of human kindness slinking like an eel.
Wind tears the cottonwood away leaf by handsized leaf.
Small waves slap the pilings. It's very expensive tonight, the wind in the lakeside trees. I don't see how I could afford to listen if not for you in the world, as the leaves sail in their numbers, somewhere deep, quick and moonlike. Max Garland Max Garland's poems and stories have appeared in Poetry, New England Review, Georgia Review, Best American Short Stories, and many other journals and anthologies. His first book of poems, the Postal Confessions, was awarded the 1994 Juniper Prize for Poetry.