View From The Charles River

By

Stilled, the thin

slip of a cedar shell

rocking there quietly

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like nudged jello in the swell

of the setting sun, the tips

of its oars held tight

by the fine young hands

of the lone rower, the red

bandanna wrapped across her brow

a signal somehow, her fine

young eyes turned upriver

casting their spell

over the soft glow of the

spinning stars and Chinese lanterns

dancing on the black-as-marble

water, the jasmine scent

of sweet briar and wild roses

echoing the night.

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