A smoke cube rose.
It refused the wind and floated straight up.

At a hundred meters
it suspended its movement.

I swear it sang an embroidered song
like a medieval summoning.

Other smoke cubes rose
and assembled above the desert.

In time, a horizontal monolith
presented itself without edifice.

It remained in place west of Albuquerque.
Many people drove out to view it.

Rumors started it was from outer space.
Conspiracies sprouted like wild flowers after desert rain.

Everyone present felt a magnetic pull
upon their tongues

that drew iron silences aside
to extract confessions.

copyright © 2021 Kenneth P. Gurney

Mi Tarea de Vocabulario

A smokey twist
rises from a cigarette
above the bent nubs
of four others
in an ashtray.

My Spanish tutor
practices card tricks
in an empty room
but fails to conjure
the three of clubs
from thin air
thickened with smoke.

My arrival
for my lesson
shoves her cards
deep into a red
woolen pocket
as my halting words
relay I left
my vocabulary
in a parking lot
truck cab
that is by now
eighteen-wheeling it
west on I-40.

copyright © 2021 Kenneth P. Gurney