An immobile lizard suddenly tongues in a sand fly.
The sun bends the desert into a lake.
I spit my last canteen swallow on a drooping prickly pear.
Five silent volcanoes pimple this plateau.
My mouth erupts with fiery epitaphs.
A coopers hawk performs an act of aerial communion.

I mean it dove, snatched my tongue from my mouth,
consumed my words therein, then sharpened its beak
on rocks that once belonged to the moon.

Do not believe that I am a child of god any more than you.

copyright © 2019 Kenneth P. Gurney


Happy Ground Hog’s Day everyone. It is also known as Candlemas for the religious service to celebrate the presentation of the Christ at the Temple. Also, it is combined with Imbolc (or Imbolg), also called (Saint) Brigid’s Day, by many people I know from the pagan community, even though they are separate days—such is how traditions change. So this day has much to accomplish, especially with the addition of Super Bowl hype.

Happy Birthday to my niece Becca. I trust the card arrived on time.

On the west side of Albuquerque are the five cones of sleeping volcanoes that are part of Petroglyph National Monument. Dianne and I walk the trails regularly between three of the cones and through one of them.