sun drunk

by Carter Rekoske

contrails arc across the canyon
as four crows croon around a cave.
the sun sets, yet the clouds are deep
with rain so i fear i will see no stars tonight.

my sunburns are still hot to the touch,
but i’ve come to understand what’s insignificant.
here, i’ve found that if i put enough mirrors on the ground,
i could walk across the sun drunk canopy of clouds.

when i search for omens, i’m shown only beauty.
nature remains unchanging in that way.
each new dawn, each new desire,
each new song of another that i make my own

i sing only to return to myself. the sun
like a heart thumping through the body of the world.

Carter Rekoske is a poetry enjoyer. He is excitedly waiting to begin his candidacy in an MFA program this Fall. He won the poetry award in Bryan College’s 2022 and 2023 annual literary contests, the 2023 Dan Veach prize in the Atlanta Review, and is published in Black Fox, Common Ground, and the ever so infamous elsewhere.