9 October 2017

She rowed in accordance
with the morning,
a quiet, poetic morning,
in which a slow pulling
on the oars was paramount,

the morning of the last day
of the first week
of autumn, the river ashiver
with a light wind,
a bright sun throwing,

into high relief, the wild
asters astir everywhere.
She wore rimless eyeglasses
beneath short gray hair,
fifty, perhaps, fit,

an agile woman, at ease
with who she was,
which is how she rowed,
she and her boat a hyphen
connecting the night just past and morning.

Philip Kuepper
(28 September 2017)