Late, Rowing Home

28 June 2020

By Philip Kuepper

Then, the sun dissolved
beneath the horizon.
The sea turned ink.
The rower turned black,
as the cloak of night
enwrapped him.
His oxblood shell
lay a ruby on the water
dock lights caught, caused
glitter, dully, as his oars
slowed his forward
motion, until ink and ruby
flowed into one,
the rower brought
to the center of stillness.

(20 June 2020)

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