21 June 2026

By Philip Kuepper

The last of the moon’s
milky light becomes
buttery with the sun’s
light at dawn.
Comes a cream
rowers row,
as the spill of it pours
into the river,
pours onto all it touches:
a swan waking, slowly,
amidst reeds being played,
softly, by a dawn breeze;
then all the aquatic menagerie
that livens a river: grebes,
scaup, wood ducks, a pair of mallards.
They float through the pour
of cream, which firs, tall,
powerful, overlook,
each fir set afire by the ascending
sun, each become
a great taper of flame,
lighting the table of the land
that runs the river’s length;
the run of the land,
the flow of the river the rowers row,
the river a pouring
of cream, mornings,
when the twins, moon and sun,
flow as one.

(2 June 2026)