When Moonlight Falls

by Hilda Conkling

When moonlight falls on the water     

It is like fingers touching the chords of a harp     

on a misty, 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.