Maybe Someone Will Visit

I still wake at night around one
for an hour or a tad more.

I imagine this is part of the human experience
and why the ancients knew the stars.

At night the wind’s sound is so different
while sitting under the mimosa.

Some hot nights in July I dream snow falling
and stacking flakes on the spiky cholla tips.

Imagine if Queen Victoria visited Albuquerque
in eighteen-eighty-two instead of Oscar Wilde—

to be honest I am not sure Oscar
made his way to the Rio Grande or whether I dreamt it.

Some nights returning from outside
I spy envelopes in the postbox their delivery ignored.

copyright © 2022 Kenneth P. Gurney

Thick Night with Edges

Midnight a woman reads pages
in place of the inside of her eyelids.

Soft light harsh.

A novel with vivid images
she will dream to dizziness, ad nauseam.

Turn the page.

A new chapter heading gives pause.
Turn the light off query.

Check the clock.

Minute-drag feels too heavy
for the foundation to hold them up.

Debarkation from convention.

No exhaustion. Uneasiness.
Back to black print on white pages.

copyright © 2021 Kenneth P. Gurney