for Krista Rae Chico
The guardians of dusk blow fire from the Rincons as clouds confer over the Catalinas in the fading tracks of humans. I interpret the blur of red as female rain tomorrow, or the child born with the blessings of animals who will always protect her.
I am always amazed at the skill of rain clouds who outline the weave of human density. Crickets memorize the chance event with rainsongs they have practiced for centuries. I am recreated by that language. Their predictions are always true. And as beautiful as saguaro flowers drinking rain.
I see the moon as I have never seen the moon, a half shell, just large enough for a cradleboard and the child who takes part in the dance of evolution as seen in the procession of tadpoles to humans painting the walls with wishes.
From the moon we all look the same.
In two days the girl will be born and nothing will ever look the same. I knew the monsoon clouds were talking about it as they softened the speed of light.
You can manipulate words to turn departure into aperture, but you cannot figure the velocity of love and how it enters every equation. It’s related to the calculation of the speed of light, and how light prevails.
And then the evening star nods her head, nearby a lone jet ascending. I understand how light prevails. And when she was born it rained. Everything came true the way it was promised.