He stood there
going through the motions
in his mind,
slipping like silk
into the shell,
taking hold of the oars,
positioning them for rowing.
The water was another matter.
To imagine water was harder.
His mind could not get a grip
on the water, on the uncooperative
river. There was too much motion.
The river moved
every which way at once.
To overcome this he let
himself, shell, oars
simply flow
with the river in his mind,
the river of his imagination.
He let the embodied become liquid.
Once all had become
indistinct in his mind,
once he, shell, oars
had dissolved as one
with the river, he could begin
to row,
to row.
Philip Kuepper
(6 July, 2013)
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