— David Eisbach
The water was as smooth as wind-blown sand,
rings fled from the bite of the oar,
first one side then the other.
The frail canoe headed into the unknown.
Jagged rocks compressed the river’s
turbulence into a wall of foreboding.
The task of the oar was recast
to soften the jarring blows.
Angry water leapt from barrier stone
enveloping all in a blizzard.
The outcast oar lost its power
and the swirl of white turned red.