30 July 2017
They lay in the shape of a roughly
woven wreath
(of laurels?), the sculls,
in how they had
been brought out
from the boathouse,
and placed on the flat grass,
to be gone over before being
put into the water.
Surely a wreath
of welcome between
athlete and Nature,
a wreath of one wearing the other,
a wreath of communion,
a wreath to be
sported.
Here was the beginning
of the season, winter just past.
Lay in wait the sluggish
river to receive
the revved athletes.
Philip Kuepper
(26 May 2017)
Tagged: Philip Kuepper, Rowing Poetry
