no rain in nine months now
that's enough time to
birth a child, a creature carried
in its own ocean first
dry lightning tonight, everywhere
we haunt the front porch
hopeful, smelling rain
fanning spider veins of
leaking Universe light
crawl all over everything
I wrap an old Mexican blanket
around me, wind rising cold now
watching my mother stand
and face the sky
every silent roar of brilliance
outlining her small shape—
her love bigger than the sky
ever was, and
brighter brighter brighter
