Full Moon on Portage Bay

Any of the spectres moving in silver across the water,
through the seconds,
could be her.
Obscured or created by each cloud,
brought here, to the northeast corner of our dock, by the full moon,
her path is clear. She has come to me,
to my house.
She can come in if she wants,
or skate and dance on the lake all night.
I will watch her from the window,
and when I leave for the night,
I'll hold her gliding transience in my memory.
Wherever she goes,
no matter how or if she moves,
she will occupy my space.