August 19, 2022
The owls 
flew through the night.
Stars sighed above, 
voices cried below.
The owls hovered,
and circled,

and searched.

A lake. Black as ink.
A cottage, like gingerbread.
A small boy sitting with a ponytail girl,
two red foxes and a yellow duck 
on a flat part of the roof
between two, high-pointing gables. 

A silver moon. Full and round.
Fallen from the sky. Floating.
Moonlight. Cutting the water
—brightening the night.
Fish. Swimming in.
Stars. Dropping by.

The ponytail girl cried.
She cuddled the duck.

The small boy sniffed.
He wiped his nose on his sleeve.
The foxes sat. Sad and silent.
The owls landed on the roof beside them.

'The moon’s fallen into the lake!' said the ponytail girl.
'It’s sinking!' cried the small boy.
'What if it goes under?'
'What if it disappears?'
'What if we never see it again?'
cried the foxes and the duck.

'Shhhh,' said the dishevelled little owl. 'Just wait.'
The lake rippled.
Slowly, the moon rose and settled. 
in the sky.
'You see?' said the dishevelled little owl. 
'It was just resting.'