Traveling in Search of Adventure

It was not like when the warm wind
was a lover tickling my ear with her tongue.

I camped on one of the few flat spots
that defined the Continental Divide.

No fire. A reddish apple and almonds
was a feast for the century.

The stars were bright and numerous—
how could an ancient spot a new one.

I quieted myself and listened to the night sounds.
I fingered the brim of my hat.

Sleep was a flock of crows flown into my eyes.
The crows feasted on something dead inside me.

I awoke and they flew out.
I inhaled tastier air under a brighter sun

that intensified the colors of the rocks
and conifers and the blues of errant scrub jays.

copyright © 2022 Kenneth P. Gurney

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