Slap Goes the Water
Oars slap water,
a heron
watching, fishing, being still as
stone.
An early sun
crashing through the mist
intent on warming eggs.
Oars sweep a clunky-swoosh,
white wake burbles.
Row slow
By the time the kitchen is reached,
It will be minutes before breakfast,
there will be bacon.
Oars slap water,
gently, ever so gently.
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