28 October 2019

By Philip Kuepper

Tall, slender
as birch,
they match, bodily,
the sleek shells
they row.  Long-armed,
for pulling long oars,
they exist in synchronicity.
Plying the water, they are
almost fish.  (Do fish sense this,
of them?)  They are young men,
nimble as bass slicing water,
slicing the loafing river,
leaving in their wake
the crumb-like drops
rolling off their blades.

(12 October 2019)