10 March 2020

By Philip Kuepper

The rowers rose
with the waves,
then settled in the slough,
their blades held midair,
positioned to meet
the next wave.
How like mixing spoons they appeared,
folding, over and over, the batter
of water, the froth
like egg whites, so airy a foundation,
to hold together the souffle of the moment.

(18 February 2020)