The Poetry Of.
Kenneth P. Gurney...................
Ocean with Child
I cover my eyes
so better to hear
the rain fall.
Water collects
in the depression,
fashions dirt into mud.
Once a steady rain fell
for a duration long enough
to fill an ocean. Four.
The rain splashes my body,
scatters me everywhere
the drops fall, stream.
I dreamt a woman
expelling a broken sea—
it wasn't very deep.
My blind search for clarity
provides a million pieces of rain
and a man who claims
he walks upon water.
But his feet are not wet,
nor do his hands fill when cupped.
Where Civilization Begins
Twilight. I walk the boundaries
my dog marked over the months.
A leaf falls, joins others,
joins the clog choking the creek.
The old homestead, now ruins,
gives shelter to birds, wood rats.
Three scattered stalks of corn stand,
give rise to the memory of a tended field.
I stop by the well stones, the ghost bucket,
the rust restraining the pulley.
Someone's great-grandfather worked this land
more than one-hundred and fifty years ago,
but the yip, yip, yip of the coyote
snaps my dog to woofing attention.
At first sight the three of us stand
as statues: no leash restrains action.
Wild coyote, domestic dog eye each other
sniff the air, respect the yellow line
without so much as a bark, a growl,
then we turn and head back down the valley.
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