The Shallows Under the Moon

a poem by Roger B. Rueda

The moon hangs low over Guisi,
its light spilling into the sea,
turning the shallows into a trembling sheet
of silver. The children and teenagers wade in,
their shadows soft-edged,
their laughter stitched into the night’s quiet.
The water rises to meet them,
lapping at their ankles, their knees,
cool waves folding gently
over their movements.

They splash without ceremony,
their gestures simple,
like punctuation in the sea’s
ongoing sentence.
Each motion dissolves almost instantly,
ripples fading into the larger rhythm,
yet leaving behind a momentary mark—
a brief impression of joy.
The ocean, indifferent yet receptive,
takes it all, as though this play
were its own reflection.

It’s a kind of mindfulness,
though none of them would call it that.
They are fully here:
their bare feet sinking into the sand,
the salt air clinging to their skin.
The night holds them lightly,
as if it too understands
that this is what presence looks like:
the deliberate way their bodies move
through the shallows,
responding to the moonlit tide
with nothing but their quiet, unthinking grace.

The sea is a mirror,
reflecting not just the moon
but the essence of their being.
Each splash is fleeting,
a brief flare of water against the light,
but it resonates,
its echo folding into the vast pulse of waves.
This is life, after all—
a series of small moments
that ripple outward,
their significance carried
even after they are gone.

On the shore, their laughter lingers,
its threads stretching thin as the tide pulls back.
The moon shifts, the shadows deepen,
and the children return to the sand,
their play already dissolving
into the rhythm of the night.
The sea smooths itself over,
its surface unbroken again,
yet carrying the memory of their joy.

In the end, it is not the stillness
that matters, but the brief movement—
the small splashes, the ripples,
the way they broke the surface
and brought it to life.
The waves will carry it,
folding their laughter
into the larger rhythm of the ocean.
Somewhere, in some unseen current,
it will live on.