Counted Three Satellites

We walked into the forest.
So little moon we required a flashlight.
We walked with care.
Fireflies tucked themselves away.
One moth fluttered around the beam.
It was two slow miles to the clearing.
We sat on old cedar trunks the loggers left.
You looked at the darkness around your feet.
I turned off the flashlight eyes closed.
We counted in unison to three.
We looked up to the undiminished heavens.
The sky was ripe with stars.
The night was not dark at all.

copyright © 2022 Kenneth P. Gurney

Catch

I look up
to the glittering
close woven
white net
of the heavens
and feel it cast
by an unseen hand
to haul in souls.

And I wonder
if it is really
many nets
held by many hands
like the fishermen
I have seen
a little off shore—
the steady ocean
brushing
their knees.

copyright © 2022 Kenneth P. Gurney

Pestered

I was bathed
by the tidal rush.

As the water troughed
between waves

something
clung to my hair.

My eyes
refused to look

at what my hand
felt damply

in case it was
a star

fallen elsewhere
into the sea

and just now
washed

upon my head
mistakenly

believing I was
an astronomer

and knew its place
back in the

heavens
day or night.

copyright © 2021 Kenneth P. Gurney