paseo del cuervo

By Kate Marco

I spend 

my mornings

with

the ravens,

the koshares

of the trees,

the silences

of dawn,

broken 

by their voices,

filling

Taos air-

air so fresh

and crisp,

it tastes clean

inside my lungs-

clouds wrap

their wispy bodies,

around

the mountain’s edge,

as magpies fly

from here

to there,

and prairie dogs

work through the night,

to emerge

from their

long rest.

this is the time

of in-between,

winter barely

hanging on,

its last few breaths,

still whitening peaks,

while spring softly gnaws 

at the hard cold ground,

greening bit by bit.

and the ravens

keep on chatting,

sticking to their stories,

letting all the secrets

out.