Dora Walks in the Rain

The field she walks through
mistakenly thanks her for the rain.

The field has no concept
of a creator god or heaven.

Nor any concept of pantheons
like the Inca or Babylonians worshiped.

The field’s concept of art
is sculpting flowering plants

out of a seed, itself and water—
molecular combinations and bindings.

The field is not sure about birds
but is thankful for the birds’ part

in spreading the living sculpture
beyond the bounds of the field.

The field is not sure why
the split rail fence gives it definition.

It remembers the early days
of consciousness

and the white horse who wandered it
like Dora wanders it now.

The field credited the horse
with bringing winter

since it was white
and the snow was white.

That may have been a dream
since the cold made the field sleepy.

Dora stops in a low corner of the field
as the rain puddles in that spot.

Looking past her drop-rippled reflection
she sees a portion of the field’s face.

She says Hullo in there.
The field smiles, but Dora does not see it.

copyright © 2021 Kenneth P. Gurney

Into The Beyond

I no longer notice the pasture fence.
The morning sun illuminates the white horse.
The breeze carries song snippets.

A hollyhock bloom chewed and swallowed
provides strange clarity.
My body’s edges fail to retain definition.

Fragments of reprieve.
A broken butterfly on the ground.
One wing perfect.

Clear sky shudders its lack of rain.
A muted promise.
A dry expressionless blue.

The white horse takes a carrot from my hand.
Relaxed meditative inertia.
A second carrot. No sticks.

Beyond the sky. Invisible.
Planets spin their courses and trajectories.
Sunna’s hold on them unbreakable.

copyright © 2021 Kenneth P. Gurney

Rural Wind By The Border

It was more like the songs played us
after observing the dogs walking us.

A horse mulls about the pasture
trying to remember the lyrics to a torch song.

If you flag the Greyhound down
it halts and picks you up

without the nicety of a bus stop
but you better be going east or west.

A whisper stalked through
the cornfield this morning.

It gently told me something
I could not translate from its Spanish.

copyright © 2021 Kenneth P. Gurney

Brain Veering

Their footprints
registered as signs of war.

A shepherd
recognized the strut

the bent
and broken grasses.

A roan horse
followed Paul all the way

back to the homestead
then waited at the stable door

for Paul to open it
and let the horse in.

Paul removed
his saber and scabbard

hung them
over the mantle piece

where his
West Point diploma leaned

against a mason jar
that contained brandied peaches.

Without a fistfight
or any back talk

Paul declared
the war over

though he never informed
the other side.

copyright © 2021 Kenneth P. Gurney