Paul laments the dead
with whiskey shots
until the world blurs
into a dysfunctional sleep.
A meteor spins downward
through the atmosphere
until it explodes
due to the misshapen friction.
He does not view
his mountain home as utopia
but a heartbreak
when he is away.
All the paperwork for the dead
got signed and delivered.
Properties did not change
but their titles did.
The dispossessed still haunt
the house and the Toyota—
Paul notices the little things
he did not notice before.
The ferryman is long ago paid
but not Uncle Sam.
Paul sorts through financial instruments
looking for a hammer.
He walks miles upon the mountain
but grieving does not find a place
among the boulders, piñon
and dry arroyos.
Paul is more aware of the dark
because he is often awake at night.
He feels lingering sorrows
only when the rain falls on Albuquerque.
copyright © 2022 Kenneth P. Gurney
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