18 August 2018

By Philip Kuepper

The low unbroken
purring
of the rowboat’s motor
moored the morning
to the dock of the day.

It’s purring caught my attention,
allowing me concentrate
on the image that was
rising in my memory,

the image of the blades
of the oars escalloping
the water the previous morning,
and how the water appeared

to be shaping each stroke
into a Veronica,
before falling back
into facelessness.

(11 August 2018)