sounds of birds

No other sound reminds me that I’m alive

my uncle steps into my mind

I see his thick gray hair, his white linen shirt

catching light     wolf teeth

small birds

were always jumping around his dusty backyard

I wonder if my gender is wrapped by his tragic death

I wonder if he visits me, and if its him that’s shining out my eyes now.

the land of us

The land of us is so much bigger than our frames

but we all already know this

we can feel our size

but we do not know his ecology

You are a mountain

made with the two palms of earth.

I am wheat whistling

the wind filling over my desire

a mother’s hand through the hair

a sun not afraid to vanish.