History of the Americas

There are always two sides to a body
of water — I call them freedom jack and
neverland. Surely my ancestors did the
same. When monarchy ran their mouths, a river
over skipping stone. Bounding into light
into everlasting. Ripples meeting
each to each. Tiny, cosmic celebrations.

The rain hasn’t let up today. Perhaps
a retaining wall in New Mexico lined 
up with the horizon and anticipated 

or, 

perhaps it was the smoke signals of 
the elders, praying for rain to abet the 
forest fires, missing by just a couple 
thousand miles. 

At the center of the smoke is white,
art museum white, and
on the other side
for an instant
an arrival.