25 June 2023

By Philip Kuepper

The smooth luminous blue sky
lies reflected on the water,
a sky my oars crack and break
into thousands of pieces
that shape again into sky in my wake.
This breaking and reshaping continues
the whole of my row,
the blue of the sky wrapped round the shoulders
of the Universe, like a cope of protection,
I, and my boat, like a fastener to it,
that keeps coming loose.
It is a cream of a row,
each stroke blue smoothness.
And thinking the row cream, I think
my boat a cat lapping it up.
Ah, but then what have I done
but gone and messed up my metaphors,
first my boat a fastener for a cope,
then my boat a cat.
I’ve no recourse, then, but to
call my boat magic,
shape-shifting like a shaman,
shape-shifting like the blue luminous
sky at the touch of my oars,
my oars, wands.

(19 June 2023)