Santa Fe in July

I breath sage fragrance rising from bundles of desert flora.
A bare-foot magician wearing a brown derby hat
proudly shows his open palms
to those learning the language of his hands.
First people artisans display handmade jewelry
on plant-dyed woolen rugs, unique offerings for sale
to those walking and embracing the 400-year-old plaza.

Unfenced apricot trees line the walkable narrow streets.
Married to the law of gravity,
ripened orange fruit falls gently from the open sky.

On a goat path trail, we hike through vanilla scented forests,
carrying time and water,
crisscrossing creeks of unfrozen snow.
Butterflies float like house dust between ponderosa pines.
Scurrying sand lizards hide under misplaced rocks.
Late day monsoon showers leave puddles, and conversations,
that evaporate into the desert before sunset.

At night, our warm skin sleeps under a humming ceiling fan.
Moving air, comforts vivid dreams,
multicolored and four dimensional, streaming within our eyes,
darting in the dark like schools of released fish.

We awaken in the morning without clocks,
holding natural light next to adobe walls.
We rise from restful sleep to begin our chosen day,
7,000 feet above the level of an unnamed distant sea.

David Lipsitz‘s poems have appeared in Main Street Rag, Chaffin Journal, Cape Rock, From The Depths, and other literary publications.