SPOOR

We go down to the lake, sit

on the wooden pier, dangle

our jars in the water.

Quiet, we drift together

as we look out over

the lake. I’m entranced

by the soft gliding

of the salmon as they swim

through the moonlight,

their scimitar backs cutting

thin slices across the lake.

It’s as if they are feeding

on the moonshine to silver

their scales. Or kissing

the moon perhaps?

We dip our jars

into the water, imagine

a nibble from the moon.

✻

My father looks out over the water to somewhere in the distance before he turns to me and asks:

“You saw how the moon disappeared for a few minutes. Now think about this. No, imagine this.” He emphasises “imagine.”

“What if the moon were to completely disappear? That would be a disaster. Time would change forever. The tides would go awry. The moon pulls and pushes the tides.”

I nod, rather perplexed.

He begins again...