2 June 2019
By Philip Kuepper
Then, suddenly,
the sounds of the strokes of oars
aspired toward where I stood.
A single scull tore, slowly,
through the mesh of dusk,
the rower no more visible
than a shadow, who passed
with a quietness
that left me pondering
whether I had seen a rower at all.
(19 May 2019)
