Never mind the tube of glitter
emptied on the muddy river to give it sparkle.
Temper raises the temperature outdoors
too minutely to measure.
The lagoon in the oxbow is the home
of a hundred million mosquitos.
The river wishes it slept so well
as a dog after a day herding sheep.
The river does not understand
the contiguous nature of states in its channel.
This afternoon we are without our quest
for transcendent Nirvana
and without our quest find it
while retrieving glitter from the shallows.
copyright © 2022 Kenneth P. Gurney
A flock of sheep
gather at the stream for water.
A cloud moves shade
across a treeless hillside.
A dirt road led me to this scene.
My ears sort through sounds to hear wool grow.
Two Sandhill cranes pass overhead,
circle and land in the field.
The stream passes into a culvert
and under the dirt road.
It emerges on the other side
in a flat place with rushes and cattails.
A blackbird sings the flock over
to where I stand at the fence.
Their black faces rise up and they bleat.
I hear their wool stretch and yawn.
copyright © 2020 Kenneth P. Gurney