Buttermilk Moon
Bike up the hill
stop beside the tracks, smash a can, and turn to stow it.
Behind me a line of pink below a black sky
Up and to the right a sliver of buttermilk glows.
I stopped to help; still trying to distance myself from the orange lake an ocean away.
God shared this sky.
Far too much payment for one can.
No. Not a payment. Not my help.
The lake is a hole in my heart and the can was a key. God turned me to open this moment.
_
Just me and Him awake on a cold Sunday.