An Irish Rower

An Irish Rower

As he rowed,
Sunlight played with his imagination.
The surface of the river became
A canvas on which designs
Were drawn whenever his oars
Brushed the water.  In one design
He saw Patrick's chains change
Into a clover of three equal leaves;

In another the initial
From the title page of the Book of Kells.
He once saw what suggested
The intricately worked metal
Of the Garryduff Gold Bird.
And the swirls the paddles of his oars made appeared
Viking coins spilled atop the water.

These urged him forward
In his rough practices
To hone the ragged edges
Of his strokes.  Perfected?
No.  Never that.  For prefection meant
He had attained performance
That could go no further.
He desired, always,
To go further.

Philip Kuepper
(June 2012)