29 August 2017

The shell, set on the gravel path,
sought water.
Where the rower?
Would Sheila know?
She knew the lake.
I had seen a photo
of her rowing it.
But, then, a host of rowers did
take to the lake.
The shell could be
anyone of their’s.  I imagined
the gravel turn to water,
the shell in its element,
and Sheila come down
from her cabin close the pines,
and row away in it.
How out of place it looked,
the shell so still on gravel.
I made a mental note to look for it,
later, on the lake.
I never did.

Philip Kuepper
(15 June 2017)