My hands glow blue
in light struck from red
rock. Sky-parched,
I stumble, bleached
by dark, bent from reading,
deaf with rain.
A raven's croak
echoes off canyon walls.
In snow-melt air,
the smell of pine rings.
Blue-gray junipers jump
from crevices, hanging on.
Nopales, hungry, spread
their blue-green palms.
Light is writing
white-gold letters on cloud.
See me,
blue-white sun,
fill me, too,
chlorophyll me.
First published in Cider Press Review, Vol. 19, Issue 4, Jan. 3, 2018