Sun Rose
Ziko Quintana
A sun rose in the west,
flinging itself to kiss your cheeks.
Quickly, smother the sparks to stunt the noval bloom.
Before you flee, leave some skin in your brazier of a home.
Kukui oiled cloth soothes little,
but bares teeth to the wind’s hot tongues.
Leather smoke, fresh and otherwise,
lends its acridity to your fear.
Fumble not with the mooringv
(though your blistering palms moan objections)
lest drifting cinders leprose your sail,
and ashes make ashes of you.
Sweat and tears trickle into awareness
by their warmth in the air, growing colder.
The shore’s hissing limps quiet,
as the red breath
of an unflinching sun
fills woven lungs.
