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)