15 January 2023

By Philip Kuepper

Loosed from shore, and out
on the ocean, the ocean
appeared sky, so clear the water
reflected the clouds.
The rowers’ oars dipped into clouds,
and stirred them to cream,
stirred them to the consistency
of cream in the flame
blue empyrean become the ocean.
There was no difference, now,
between sky and ocean. And the rowers?
The rowers had become
as much bird as human,
their oars, wings, that flew them
across the ocean sky. And the clouds
were liquid. And there appeared
a plane that, reflected in the ocean,
became a fish, the oars of the rowers,
like rods and reels, appearing to catch.
Another cloud, then, and another,
until the rowers, rowing,
stirred themselves into the cream
of them, into creaminess,
and melted into the buttery
sun that had turned
the ocean gold.

(29 December 2022)