23 June 2024

By Philip Kuepper

I row the boat of my thought
out from my homeport each morning.
My mind, just now, is in
three quite different
places, simultaneously:
Mystic, Connecticut,
the Fjords, of Norway,
Tangier, Morocco,
the Fjords, from 100,000 B.C.E.,
Tangier, from 1000 B.C.E.,
Mystic, from when, I am uncertain,
though likely from the melting
of the last Ice Age,
making is land similar
in age with the Fjords.

My mind is in these places,
simultaneously,
because it is both
hungry and restless.
Such is the nature
of my intellect.
And in the fabled falls
of water of the Fjords,
I can hear the roar
of noise in the bustling
market square of Tangier.
Mystic, comparatively
quiet, is like the spray
whispering off the falls
as they descend.

These three places draw
a geographical triangle
on my visual cortex.
They hang connected.
I row the boat of my thought
from point to point
on the triangle’s path.
where I bargain for spices
in the heat of Africa,
bring them to my kitchen
in Mystic. And after the heat,
I cool down in the fresh
air of the Fjords,
satisfying, for the moment,
my all too active mind.

(17 June 2024)