20 October 2019

By Philip Kuepper

Late October light,
the color of butterscotch,
slants shinily across
calm cobalt water,
light through which a man
rows a dory,
the crisp air colding
toward dusk, dark pine
silhouetted high on the ridge.
How lonely the faint slapping
sound of the oars’
blades against the water,
the sound of departure.

(5 October 2019)