I am the Emptiness Between My Atoms

My life rustles.
Doubt strengthens my faith.

The knife that wounds me
strikes mostly nothing.

My glass is full of hunger.
And the eruption of distant stars.

It is easy to think wind blown trees
swat the sky with their leaves.

I discovered this old slowness.
I embraced my obsessions like a prophet.

Cultural torpedoes
sunk my ship of state in heavy waters.

There I am on turbulent seas
afloat in the lifeboat of forgiveness.

Void and expanse are not good names
for what exists between stars.

My molecules are interested in being me
for only so long, then they go.

copyright © 2022 Kenneth P. Gurney

My Hand Cramped Writing

Each child born
comes with
clean sheets of paper
to record their history
as it happens
from arrival
to departure

whether they sit
under stately oaks
and converse
with the northern
faerie folk

or whether
they avoid sitting
on prickly pear
and watch
roadrunners
zoom circles
around a cholla.

It is the same
with each new blade
of grass
and mountain stream
water droplet.

copyright © 2022 Kenneth P. Gurney

Gagged Tongue Moistens Words

I am perplexed by the silence
that accompanies cravings.

Which is different than infatuation.

Which is an external gravity
that draws me into eccentric orbits.

My watering mouth confuses me.

So does a pungent clove scent
trimmed with oleander.

I feel like I am about to overflow.

I collapse inward
condensed in my silence.

copyright © 2022 Kenneth P. Gurney

Gnostics Have These Answers

Why do second-hands sweep?
Time is no cleaner for all their effort.

In which case I am glad they do not sweep up memory
so I recognize my beloved when I see her.

The night fills with dark.
But it is the absence of light that makes it so.

Not that the light is absent.
It is blocked by the earth’s rotation.

Like when my beloved turns her face from mine
and I cannot see her smile.

When I am at a loss for words
I have plenty of words at hand ready for use.

But all those words seem to be
the wrong thing to say under the circumstance.

Why are my words at hand?
It is not like I ramrod them in my mouth

like the barrel of a muzzleloading musket
before firing away.

copyright © 2021 Kenneth P. Gurney