We all unfold as music.

Our desire appears each morning.

It is white lit, bare branched hunger for the entire sky.

Dogs bark at a man with a leaf blower.

Doors open, close. My mind and yours lit by sun.

Ravens caw, an unkindness tumults in the blue.

We feel we learn our traumas too late, but we are as

children. Our heart some days an orchestra suddenly

aflame. Closing our eyes, we see our salmon-lit dawn,

and it is no transgression to look towards

ourselves with awe.

 

Closing our eyes, we see our salmon-lit dawn,
and it is no transgression to look towards
ourselves with awe.

This article appears in September 4 2017.

Sheryl Luna’s 'Pity the Drowned Horses' (University of Notre Dame Press) received the Andres Montoya Poetry Prize. 'Seven' (3: A Taos Press) was a finalist for the Colorado Book Award. Recent poems have appeared in 'Poetry,' 'Taos International Journal of Poetry' and 'Art and Pilgrimage.'