the one solitary tree
behind your eyes
bind to the rich loam
of your soul
where are the birds
and climbing mammals
let alone any sign
of brown leaves
fallen and covering
copyright © 2021 Kenneth P. Gurney
We made bread.
While it baked we imagined it in our mouths.
Once it was done baking,
we tasted our bread fresh from the oven.
We compared our imagined tastes
to the real taste upon our tongues.
The bread in your imagination tasted like the golden ratio,
thus a honey-butter smear did not compare.
The bread in my imagination sought out fishes
and a purer hand than mine to feed a multitude.
copyright © 2020 Kenneth P. Gurney