There's a lake, down south,
where the moon comes, a
weave of branches wrapped
about her like an open robe.
Her nimble fingered light,
looped through forest limbs,
pulling shadows from the
gentle curves of earth.
She floats across this valley
spreading treetop high.
Her silver legs running circles
around a wooded shore, while
the cold breath of winter draws
a misting bath, she slides beneath
its surface, pale shoulders resting
on shadowed banks and with
arms shimmering beneath the
circled light she stretches back
into dawn, and with the screech
of a timber hawk is gone.
Before there was mythology
she spoke the word of God
in sparkling circles atop these
woodland waters.

Randolph Bridgeman
RANDOLPH BRIDGEMAN is a senior, majoring in English at St. Mary's College of Southern Maryland. This is his first appearance in The Adirondack Review.
The Adirondack Review