Waking

Venus’ shimmers in the
the pale blue where it turns from
blue to grey to orange.
The canyon walls also begin to shed their gray
in favor of a thousand different hues.
The air would freeze
water were there any. But the cold doesn’t
bite; it seems to make sound and light travel faster through it.
i love to feel as small as i am,
to brush against expansive nothing, where the light
strikes too many gnarled junipers to count.
to feel eroding absolution.
to hear deafening stillness.
i try to forget everything
except this moment, but symbiotic memories
stay with me
like a highschool girlfriend’s phone number.
The morning star is swallowed up by light, and so am i.