20 August 2023

Philip Kuepper

The day is nervous.
Wind.
Trees blow.
Leaves shiver.
Birds flutter among the shivering leaves,
trees, leaves, birds,
like waves in a sea of air.
My mind is a boat
rowing the sea of air,
rowing these waves,
each wave cutting at my shell
as I slice through them,
my oars, knives,
to meet the cutting waves.
The day is nervous.
The wind is up.
Flags snap at it.
Flags sting the wind,
the sound of each snap
jolting me forward.
Through the cutting,
through the stinging,
I row.
I row toward calm.

(11 August 2023)