Santa Fe Fall

Cornflower wings flutter,
dancing upwards,
defining a double helix,
painting the cerulean sky.

The throaty voice of Raven
pulls my eyes from their place,
fixes and feeds them
on juniper and pine.

Somewhere in the distance
a woman walks her dogs,
her humming to the melody -
the jingle-jangle of dog collars -
as the sun slips silently
through the coyote fence,
painting warm bars on my arms.