the sculler's boat,
carvingrazored waters; the wake delayed
behind the oar thrust,
streaming
like hair of a submerged girl.
The
tenuous nature of wood,
fragile as pod; repelling the weight
of black water catching the hull,
heavy as paste, yet
slipsthrough like an oiled sword.
The muscled-back rower
flexes, a butterfly
testingits shoulders, his arms poised
forward,
baiting the rhythm
of pull with his chest,
shoves out, thighs tensing
like bullets, heaves
rearwardand pauses, the world
and the rower stand still
for a moment as the boat
glides away.
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