stanislaus river

biting its path

through salmon-pink

hibiscus

yo creo hablar

english

crows circling

straight from the womb

i cannot be

home amongst dirt

como un hombre

babydoll angel or

tittering in the stream

touching every syllable

every tangled tongue

the sun’s teeth

across my back

throngs of

flowers screaming

in a language other than

yo quiero yo quiero

in a perfect “o” formation

i speak ancestry

my father’s child

choking on a lesson

is ten times better than

verbs in a dead language

of doubt or death

that rolls across

every mangled body