Why do second-hands sweep?
Time is no cleaner for all their effort.
In which case I am glad they do not sweep up memory
so I recognize my beloved when I see her.
The night fills with dark.
But it is the absence of light that makes it so.
Not that the light is absent.
It is blocked by the earth’s rotation.
Like when my beloved turns her face from mine
and I cannot see her smile.
When I am at a loss for words
I have plenty of words at hand ready for use.
But all those words seem to be
the wrong thing to say under the circumstance.
Why are my words at hand?
It is not like I ramrod them in my mouth
like the barrel of a muzzleloading musket
before firing away.
copyright © 2021 Kenneth P. Gurney
Umflop 