Bearing

I think about leaving.
as I sit against a witness tree.
It is all about staying.
It is all about this beloved earth.

I sing time into a fog.
I feel memory unwrap from my being.
As I waft away from gravity
I know memory is the tether that holds me here.


copyright © 2020 Kenneth P. Gurney

All The Same Size

I lived in a line.
It was sequential.
There were no do-overs.
I tried a do-under, but that didn’t work either.
Tradition made the line a little less visible.
Singing turned the line into a landscape.

Memory made copies
of small line segments.

I could sort them last in first out.
I could sort them first in first out.
I could create a totally random access.
Like a deck of cards, I threw them
and picked them up one by one.


copyright © 2020 Kenneth P. Gurney

Freshness Date

I was thirteen.
I was fourteen, fifteen and other numbers as well.

I wanted to live them out of sequence.
An unwritten rule prevented that.

Every human face I have ever known
wears several ages simultaneously.

I am sure you have noted this phenomenon
and wished your eyes sparkled like when you were ten.

Some dates within the calendar of my years
are larger than other dates and my mind returns to them regularly.

I have laid in bed thinking about some of those
mostly because those dates demanded it.

Last night I reviewed sitting low among the rocks
high up above the clouds on the Spanish Peaks

and calming the dogs as a thunderstorm arced lightning
across the tops of the clouds a hundred feet below us.

That was thirty years ago, but the ozone
smells as fresh as if the percussions rumbled through me now.


copyright © 2019 Kenneth P. Gurney