by David Chorlton
The waking skies of summer
opened like a hand of cards spread daily
when the white sun rose
and a cloud held Heaven’s fire close
to Earth while all was golden light behind
Four Peaks.
Each day
broke into song against a stage set brightly
for the doves and mockingbirds and
flickers who arrived without
a campaign slogan or
a lie. Pigeons flocked together for safety
while hawks and candidates
hunted alone through dry heat
and monsoons. Anniversaries flew by
with months sliding
down a rainbow to
disappear the way
time does when it has used up
its energy and wants to sleep the winter sleep
that follows an election when all
that’s left are losers crying foul
and birds lost in migration
showing up at the most unlikely
destinations. There is one late rain
turning to mist
on the south side
of a desert mountain. And hummingbirds
for whom each day is much the same as
the one before it. They are driven
by their unending appetites
and swear allegiance to the sugar
hanging from the sky.
David Chorlton is a longtime resident of Phoenix with great affection for the desert. His newest book is Poetry Mountain published by Cholla Needles Arts and Literary Library in Joshua Tree, CA.
