"Whatever Is, Is Right"

by Frank John Gaik

This night’s calm
water like a black
museum floor

relaxes me. I pick
a pebble flecking
the moon light

and flip it in the lake.
It sends out circles
to the irregular

shore. The moon
on water, circles
from a splash,

a bluegill swimming
round and around
its shallow nest

remind me earth
creates in spheres.
We make corners

nature lacks, to plot
our gods on perfect.
planes. No one

lives in round huts
anymore or caves,
children roll bread

into a ball and eat
it. Nothing is
perfect in the world.