12 July 2026 By Philip Kuepper The shell flashed past,a streak of light,through the blinding brightsunlight burning whitethe blue river. Nothingwas distinct, all detailerased. The rowers,assumably present,I could not see,caught up, as they were,in the shell of lightenclosing them.I heard the blades of their oarsscore the flesh of the water.Did I hear them breathing,in unison, or only imagineI heard it, knowing it would berhythmically present?So …
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