New Midnight Ritual

I wake from a dream.
It was not my dream.
A flock of snow geese dreamt me.

An owl swooped down
with the message scrolling from its beak
I am the savior of the world.

The owl ate me.
But I did not die.
I felt myself pressed into canvas.

Hieronymus Bosch added colors
with confident brush strokes.
He shaded dimensions on a lost Annunciation painting.

Words scroll from Gabriel’s mouth to Mary’s ear.
The pope and bishops sit at a table in the background,
knives and forks ready to parse the cooked goose.


copyright © 2020 Kenneth P. Gurney

Last November

Thank you for your letter
hand written on a card
with a photo of a goldfinch on the front,
written in your signature sepia ink.

You wrote your letter
on three of the four possible sides.
You had a dot-dot-dot
over the credits and copyright information.

I expect there is a second card
in the postal system somewhere
with more of your sentences
and a few pithy sayings from Bartlett’s.

This leaves me guessing
if you continued with birds
or shifted to Hieronymus Bosch’s
Garden of Earthly Delights.

Or maybe you had a left over birthday card
with a little mouse holding colorful balloons
and you taped a stick of gum inside it
like you did last November.


copyright © 2020 Kenneth P. Gurney