l.a. is always returning

for tía carmen

i feel gentle heat

when i think of 

that smile

in your voice

we drive 300 miles;

touch worn pews

several damp  hands 

(my face also damp)

if there’s such thing as 

serendipity; it’s in that 

contrast of rain & sun

the way you moved on screen

i’m trying to say 

“te quiero” but

spanish always gets lost

in my spit 

obsidian (erasure) of tongue

after gloria anzaldua

dumb moon //

obsidian spokes

stare fanning

eyeless 

bisecting seam

turning feather

across night

sky

earth’s flower

continues 

pollinating  

ancestors

while my spanish 

only carries 

relentless

embarrassment

a perfect rain in los angeles

after Sesshu Foster

this city of the future

has perfect rain

that is always wet

never sticks

pavement smells like

death, or 

summers walking barefoot

that good kind of burning

i hear the same joke

about every city in america

that no one can drive 

when god’s tears fall

maybe someday we’ll  understand

 rain has nothing to do

with god, and everything to do

with climate change