I still wake at night around one
for an hour or a tad more.
I imagine this is part of the human experience
and why the ancients knew the stars.
At night the wind’s sound is so different
while sitting under the mimosa.
Some hot nights in July I dream snow falling
and stacking flakes on the spiky cholla tips.
Imagine if Queen Victoria visited Albuquerque
in eighteen-eighty-two instead of Oscar Wilde—
to be honest I am not sure Oscar
made his way to the Rio Grande or whether I dreamt it.
Some nights returning from outside
I spy envelopes in the postbox their delivery ignored.
copyright © 2022 Kenneth P. Gurney