8 April 2016

This is the season in which the light
is anxious to rise,
the blades of oars anxious
to slap the water.
I grow tired
with the confines of the tomb
of winter,
the light, with the confines
of darkness,
the sculler, with the shore.

This is the season I am
anxious to push-off in,
to a level I have yet
to explore. Watching scullers
reminds me desire
elevates the mind
in how each pull on the oars
rows one through water
one has not explored before,
each measure of water
no larger than an oar’s blade,
new to the sculler,
new to me.

New light alters old light,
making light more clear.
Tombs, themselves, tire of sleep.
They cleave the rock
that makes up them.
They make passage
for the light, burgeoning,
from within, to break forth
from the hearth of night,
and flare!, suddenly, up,
allowing one see,

like the blades of oars seeing
through water.

Philip Kuepper
(18 March 2016)

Editor’s note: April is Poetry Month, which mean that during this month we will increase the number of poems published on HTBS by our website’s own poet, Philip Kuepper. Do remember that mid-January, HTBS published 40 poems by Philip, A Sea To Row By – Poems. Get more information about his book, and order your copy, here.