13 September 2026

By Philip Kuepper

Winds whipped up
troughs of waves,
then died,
and lay the water flat.
It became a rower’s river.
And rowers slid out onto it.
I watched their bodies
flex, relax, flex, relax,
as they eased into the rhythm
that shot through them forward backwards.
I was watching paradox happen.
They were fit oxymora.
They rowed at the still center of speed.
They appeared the essence of sleek.
Their beauty was meant to be,
and to be envied.
In that moment they were
the elected elite.
Then, gasps of exhaustion overcame them.
They came ashore not gods but humans,
and were all the more beautiful for it.
For what they had accomplished
was a superhuman feat, that now
would live forever in memory.

(24 August 2026)