Mother stripped the sun
of its color each day
before putting it to bed.

This has nothing to do
with the long ago
Spanish lust for gold and inquisition.

When I smell flowers
it is as if someone sprinkled blossoms
inside my empty skull.

I carefully pulled my fist apart
before chatting
with an unmasked stranger.

I looked at her with carnelian eyes
edged by
turquoise crows feet.

This has nothing to do
with incongruent syllables strung together
by the overtaxed homeless.

Mother dressed the sun
in saffron robes
to flavor the stranded morning.

copyright © 2022 Kenneth P. Gurney

Heart Of Gold

In Delphi’s blood
a reddish dull yellow
color mixture
not quite orange
resulted from
the placement
of the philosopher’s stone
upon her heart
by her mother
when she was a child
and it transformed
some of the iron
in her hemoglobin
into gold
counter to
the popular myth
about the stone’s effect
on bluish-gray lead.

copyright © 2021 Kenneth P. Gurney


The screen door cut the evening light
as it passed through the wire mesh
and left shiny bits littered on the floor.

Paul rolled around on them
thinking they would stick to his sweaty body
and brighten his mood.

But those bits of light
migrated ant-like to Dora’s studio
and took their place in a paint pot.

Paul imagined placing a screen
over an abandoned mine entrance
so the segmented light would refill the shaft with gold.

copyright © 2021 Kenneth P. Gurney