Night Row
by Daryl Muranaka
Alone, in the dark,
the baby sleeping in the tent—at last!—
the canoe cuts through
the blackness. Gurgling
water beneath the skin
of the canoe. Our feet
absorb the vibrations.
The blade of the oar
whispers along, feeling,
always feeling for the rocks
that lurk below.
The moon’s full light
is swallowed
into the night.
The only sounds—
the little creatures calling
to us from shore.
Gyroscope Review 12
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