Rowing Beneath a Lowering Sky

Thick light made viscous
by the river
coated his oars
in the overcast
morning, the river
syrupy to which
to which the light adhered.

He pulled skowly
the oars through the syrupy
river, the light
thickening as he went.
The overcast morning pressed
against him, oppressed any attempt
at his rowing further.

His oars dripped syrup
as he lifted them
to lay them to rest
on his shell.  He would float
where he would until
the oppressive overcast
cleared, the sky

so low he could reach
and touch the substance of it.

Philip Kuepper
22 March 2014