an inner rooftop, delicate
graffiti, a Latin mural—as dead to some, alive to cultures, close to eight
car-loads travelling to East L.A.
Sweeter resurrection, Our Guadalupe, our tender resistance. (At Love to
flourish, a terror-bird design, a phoenix incubation: our palms through fires,
our allegations sworn as false, our melic screams forced into prehistoric
alibis.) The Spinosaurus, a wolf-whale, our scales depended upon actions; a
dream you shared, those trinkets, our séance, as kitchens become holy. Those
shaky eyes, that hazel glare, the horizon trickling into alligators: our
crocodile patience, our Raptorex appetites, Love as sexed out. Amphibian frogs,
a hypnotic rattler, adders swearing intimacies—if less ice, a warm sky, aboriginal
genetics; transmigrated, evolution, at deeper wonder—about dinosaur thoughts,
heat meters, feeling insouciant.
