2 June 2024

By Philip Kuepper

The little town slept like a golden retriever
by the hearth-like harbor.
Dawn sun turned bronze the buildings
and set light to the water.
Only a ripple worried the water
flickering like a low flame.
I imagined if I were to fish it
I would catch a fire fish
flaming on my hook.
How then to prepare it?
Would one fry a fire fish,
or serve it flambe style
right out of the water?
Surely the latter.
Several stray cats sat
watching the water.
Later would come fishermen
who had fished the night (of starfish)?
and toss cuts of gutted
pieces of fish their way.
Then wood touched wood, and a rower
locked one oar in place,
then the other, then the kiss
of blades to water,
the tentative lips of blades
kissing the cheek of the water,
and intimacy initiated,
a romance begun?
He rowed the hearth of the harbor,
enflaming the water,
the flames reflected in the windows
of the bronzed buildings of the little town,
windows like eyes, wide, looking on,
awed, amazed,
as the blaze took hold.
And the whole of the harbor
was engulfed with brilliance.

(24 April 2024)