You have heard it said the sun never rises

and this is true                    soil furrows out

night from day                notes whisperlong

in the open country past mountains

calling like some figure cast in marble &

paint like dancing at the summer carnival

 

fabric hangs from my shoulders thin

& open in the breeze who more than I

to know myself this perfect sun

of gold            of fathers            of reigns

unconquered on the temple steps

that stretch from door to dresser

 

waiting where wind will wind whip

sharp on legs shorn of memory

this body          gold and perfect

buried.           in a cloud of light

and draping the way it is said

I do not rise                 I unfathom

 

eruption of memories into the sky

cast down clouds like distant tribe

sol                   the sun                  I

invictus           unbent                 I

move between realms I cannot name

turn the earth beneath my feet

 

like a field fallow-full                              like

the wind that catches in this skirt

hung on my ankles        like voice

caught in my throat      this invocation

drying out dew in the morning

---

RYAN MURPHY is an MFA student at The University of New Mexico and mostly drinks a lot of water and tries to stay out of the sun. Ryan‘s work has appeared or is forthcoming in Manzano Mountain Review, Beech Street Review, Inklette, and Garbanzo, as well as a very talented pigeon delivering hand-rolled poems to upper story apartments.