16 May 2021

By Philip Kuepper

I watched the mosaic
being laid in place:

The rowers lifting their shells
from the roofs of their cars,
and slipping them into the water;

the fishermen just in
from a night on the ocean,
hoisting onto the dock
their glittering catch.
(Had they been fishing for jewels?)

Then, down a ways, on the quay,
out of the corner of my eye,
what I took to be a fire
was, when I looked, a display
of tomatoes, carrots, bell peppers,
set out on the bed of a pick-up.

All this, piece by piece,
was glued in place on the air around me,
a scene I looked on
as I would a mosaic.
I hung it in the museum of my mind.

(29 March 2021)