Blue Irises

I see
the one solitary tree
that grows
behind your eyes
whose roots
bind to the rich loam
of your soul
and wonder
where are the birds
and insects
and climbing mammals
let alone any sign
of brown leaves
fallen and covering
your fertile

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