The two women waited
For daylight. Darkness conveted all.
Sky and river ran black,
Together, seamlessly,
A seam the light would let out
Of the prison of night.
The first prism of light rose, pale,
Above the hills opposite
The landing where the women sat,
Their shells next them,
Like eager racers, patient, waiting
To be one with the river.
When sunlight touched the river
A light wind rose
Cutting the water into tiny scallops.
When the river went smooth, the women
Slid their shells onto the quicksilver
Surface. For an instant
They vanished in the merging
Of the light and the silver
Of the river.
They rowed out of this illusion,
Rowed with strong strokes out
Into the center of the river,
Engulfed, by then, with the ravishing
Day. The rowed in unison.
And from a distance they appeared
A thin glittering brooch on the silk
Blouse of the river.
Philip Kuepper
(December 2010)
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