Awakened By Weeping Icicles

Awakened by weeping icicles
Lori felt the unevenness
of her holy body.

She read cover to cover
the Bible, Torah and Quran
in search of her name

but found it untouched
by their many verses
and living parables.

She chose not to see
this absence
as a barricade.

Unblocked by script and tradition
she examined
her every longing.

Especially rhythms
edible or audible
or snowy when the pipes froze.

Kiss me.
She thought of god
bending down from heaven

to place lips
to her forehead
to sooth unnamed sadness.

Kiss me.
She thought of the man
down the street

with good manners
who harvested winds for melodies
pushed through his clarinet.

copyright © 2022 Kenneth P. Gurney

Real And Imagined

Lynn curls in the wisps of fog.
She is steam. She is ghost.
She makes snow angels in our front yard.

Lynn is always one step ahead of me
through the pines, through the alders,
across the rocky flanks of the mountain.

Do not worry about my wanderings.
Earthly geography is a simple thing.
I cannot become more lost than I am.

I seek Lynn in the light
as I top every rise,
as I round every curve.

This holding on pulls me
over the slightest mountain trails
in among the bears.


copyright © 2019 Kenneth P. Gurney