27 October 2024

By Philip Kuepper

Outward,
from Pt. Enlightenment,
I pass the tip of the promontory.
And then all is
open sea, the immense
dark plain of sea,
where waves are wheat
being continuously
harvested by the thresher wind.
What bread issues forth
from such wheat? Journey loaves,
meant to be eaten on the run,
loaves sliced by the sharp
knives of prows,
loaves that can’t be replicated
in a galley. It’s the waves.
They are impossible to knead.
They are more slippery than mercury.
Try shaping waves into a loaf.
It will prove my point.
Yet the wind threshes.
Prows slice the loaves.
In the end, the sea eats itself,
which is why, whenever
I set out from Pt. Enlightenment,
I bring with me water crackers.

(26 October 2024)