22 August 2020

By Philip Kuepper

Like the breath of a spirit
blew the breeze
out on the water,
wrapping round the rowers’ shoulders
its protective arm.

A motion, unearthly,
propelled them.  They eased
into the forward thrusting
of their endeavor.  Dawn
had just broken its egg of light
on the hot griddle of the horizon.

A cloud of white took shape
round its eye of yellow,
the sight of which drew
the rowers toward it,
until they began to take on
measures of insight.

They became the sight
they were being seen by.

(14 August 2020)