Safe Passage

9 February 2020

By Philip Kuepper

Fall soft fat flakes of snow
on the brightly painted boats,
sober in their stillness on the still
water, sober
to the point of thoughtfulness,
as though they are about
to think aloud.

Then one blows its horn,
a cheeky little working craft
the season do not determine
the actions of.  There are
fish to be caught, regardless,
And the need to eat
is just that,
a necessity.

I think to imagine a cat on deck,
as I cannot see one.
I think it there for good luck.
As for gear, a trap, a net?
These, also, are not in sight.
No problem.  I imagine them
there, as well.

The still water is moved
by such a craft,
moved that such a craft
would go out in a morning like this,
the snow falling as it was forecast to do,
falling from its Eden
because it is its nature to fall,
melt, and rise back
into the atmosphere.

The boat, also, can only do
what is is doing because it is doing it,
moving the still water to motion
through the falling snow,
its deck furnished, gratis,
my imagination, with a good luck
symbol to help see to it its passage
is safe, safe to catch
the fish waiting to be
caught.

(2 February 2020)

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