14 September 2025

By Philip Kuepper

Come morning, the world
lay scoured clean,
bristle-brushed by the rain
night had witnessed fall.
The docks dripped wet,
and shone with a sheen
light looked at itself in,
as though it was a mirror,
and drew a comb of cloud
through its blond hair.
Light was up earlier than the other rowers,
and preened, unblushingly,
in front of the boat house.
It waited for its sleepy mates to arrive.
In the hush of the hour,
their shell sat expectant,
anticipating a workout.
Then, in the hush,
a wave of river slapped,
and broke against the shore of the hush,
and said, ‘Shh’,
a ‘Shh’ that wakened the waiting
world for the rowers to appear.

(30 August 2025)