Member Poem

Whatever is, is right
 
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
reminds 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.