13 Agust 2023

By Philip Kuepper

Row to a spot, unplanned.
Climb ashore from the shell.
Like back in the grass.
And just be.
Look up among the branches
of an arching beech,
its aubergine leaves tippling the sky.
Your eyes grow heavy
with the serenity of the moment.
You sleep.
You dream your shell has become a fish.
A bass perhaps? A cod?
Regardless, it is magical.
And, suddenly, your shell, a fish,
is rowing you, rowing your imagination
on the dream streaming
through your mind. You smile.
You sense yourself rising to the dream,
out of the grave of your body.
‘Spirit rise.’ That’s what you call it
to yourself in the dream.
Your shell, a fish, rows you
ever further into the dream,
from which you crave
not to waken. You awaken.
The grass in which you lie
is flat and slick with the sweat of sleep.
You think about rowing back
to your point of departure.
When you climb aboard your shell
you aren’t convinced it isn’t a fish.

(25 July 2023)