Lions shake those morning rafters that our bones
cradle wind 
in ourselves
as sails
of the gems 
designed for tu-pacs monogram readout
we try to remember
the people who died to make our shoes possible
and connect a line to the sun
a battle cry to the microbial phones
in the rain without umbrellas
arise multicolored nukes
my petticoat
down 
on
to
the floor 
while the roar in the corner separates
skulls of soft pears of speech therapy from your eyes
a long time ago
when the earth was still green
castianos. 2009.