A Child’s Closing Prayer
By Tom Mach

The lake is smooth
and as still as death,
but an occasional cricket shatters the silence.
“Grandpa,” I begin,
but he shushes me.
“Let your soul drink it in,” he says.
I follow his gaze to the evening sky,
all pierced with white dots,
while a round, white moon
touches the darkness.
“God is here,” he whispers.
“Where?” I ask, frowning.
But I see his smile
and I
Understand.