Hilda Conkling

From “Song Nets”

WHEN moonlight falls on the water,

It is like fingers touching the chords of a harp

On a misty day.

When moonlight strikes the water

I cannot get it into my poem—

I only hear the tinkle of ripplings of light.

When I see the water’s fingers and the moon’s rays

Intertwined,

I think of all the words I love to hear

And try to find words white enough

For such shining.