19 November 2023

By Philip Kuepper

The hoot of a lighter
opened the eye of the sky,
and set the harbor in motion.
Work was up
and at the day.
Stevedores flexed muscles
lifted load
from hold to dock,
dock to hold.
A boat’s smokestack coughed.
A whistle screeched,
cutting clean through
an expletive.
A little skiff skipped out
from under the burden of work,
and set its prow
to the open ocean,
its progress watched by gulls
alert to anything suggesting breakfast.
A tug shrugged into action,
and slowly nosed a liner
loose from its pier.
The act of separation was happening,
the first step in a voyage.
A lone rower stood watching
all this unfold,
this physical language being spoken
between man and water,
this liquid tongue of a language
the rower was born to speak.

(24 September 2023)