7 January 2020

By Philip Kuepper

The rower’s shell brushes
the reflections of pines,
in the bright river.

Blades, suddenly, dipped in the river
waken swans
alert to motion.

Oarlocks’ groans echo
across sleeping water.
A fish breaks the surface.

At each of her strokes,
she inhales, exhales,
the river breathing with her.

Eight young men man
their craft of rowing,
a bossy blue jay their coxswain.

The unbroken rhythm of blades
folding water;
human, nature, one.

Water lapping
is picked up by a mallard
quacking.  A rower coughs.