30 April 2017

I let be
the found oar,
so one had it become
where it had come
to rest in the grass
bearding the bank
of the listless river.

The grass embraced it.
A turtle, in its helmet,
sunned itself atop the blade.
Hovered a dragonfly,
like a news helicopter,
until it whirred away
in chase of another story.

The listless river exhaled,
and caused float, gently, the oar,
setting to flight a bluebottle
fly, a marsh sparrow
went alert to.  A chase ensued
through the thicket of reeds,
up one of which climbed,
slowly, a caterpillar
towards transformation.

About that,
a robin entertained
a quite different scenario.
The bearded river snored,
to which the oar
rose and fell, imperceptibly,
a cradle to the turtle,
on whose helmet had come
to rest, like a badge,
a small moth-like insect,
that spread its psychedelic wings.

Philip Kuepper
(22 April 2017)