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Taos Sky
by MFrostDelaney
It blesses the rising and setting sun, its patches of blue kneel to spots of white, its swath of amber orange sanctifies trees. The ground beneath is an altar where morning and night worship is heard in vibrations that praise the coming of each day, and thank its rest. The clouds transport angels of the ancients, Pueblo and Tewa choirs, whose hums spark the sun’s first through last notes of chanting. The earth lays prostrate in awe, quells all living to hush as it offers itself as a bed of respite each dusk, and a cradle of birth each dawn.
El Santo echoes
sacred asurite, crimson
more than blood of Christ
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