3 May 2026

By Philip Kuepper

I saw the rowers row
through the nave of the church
reflected in the river.
How like a prayer being recited,
I thought them, as they processed
the aisle of the river through the stone,
its ribs held together by buttresses
acting arced clamps.
There was something of the buttresses
about their oars,
something of the nave
about their boat.
And the church, how like a ship
on the stays, awaiting launch,
awaiting launch on waters, celestial,
oars manned by angels,
those Mercury-borne messengers.
I saw the rowers row the river,
and row the river’s mirror.
I saw the rowers,
and the rowers, mirrored,
row through the nave of the church
reflected in the river,
just as a flock of birds shot to flight
from the roof of the nave,
like a choir released in song.

(19 April 2026)