5 March 2017

Where the cove curved
lay leaves, like little boats
on the water, maple leaves,
red, on the bottle green water,
over which the maple hung,
causing mix together
the real leaves and the reflected leaves
of the overhanging tree.

Here, rowers’ shells rested
between practices,
shells, like lily pads
waiting to bloom with rowers,
flowers of rowers, to bloom,
along the course.  And when
they rowed out of the sheltering
shade of the cove, the sun
would strike each one,
like a candle suddenly lit,

each one a flame, abloom,
come out of the dark
cove onto the firey river.

Philip Kuepper
(27 November 2016)