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Solar Aura

Ruth Arce is an MFA student at Brigham Young University. She writes surrealism, concrete poetry, visual poetry, bilingual poetry, and all things experimental.
The earth dawns, the sun begins to grow light
the amber drifts away from the night,

galaxies faint in the bronze of aurora
as a burnished tone unfolds the earth,

I see your aura, a sun in its wake
renaissancing in the daybreak,

your friable being crosses through
the breach of life, a gap in the curtains,

your colored emanation edges the sky
encircles my body in an ethereal dye,

particles of gold scatter in the room
start to bask on the bare ground, intact,

I soften my eyes on you, we collide
your blond hair traverses my side

an iridescence defrosts the stillness
unveils your translucent plane,

an ivory glow encloses your face
creases on your subtle disappearance

the sun's gentle breaths break the horizon,
direct light frays the diffused rising

and the halo of the sun approaches my skin,
but I am fleshed, I can't quite be one with the sun
or you, and you know not to orbit any closer.
20

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