The dreams arrive full-mooned;
     the stars evidence of a kindness—
                                            an uncle, once a wound on the porch, left leg missing—
                                            a prayer
                                                      or punchline, an inheritance of desire a truth we spin
                                                      late at night,
                                                      a lullaby our fathers once sang-once, they forgot how
                                                      to religion—
                                                                 they shook a church beneath their hands,
                                                                 revealed what it was like to drown
                                                                 in rivers they once crossed, their throats heavy
                                                      with salt, thunder,
                                                      lightning— shook monsoons down our lungs—
                                                      but we were just kids,
                                   before we knew what we could sow, we ripped rinds from oranges,
                      peeled pericardium layer by layer, became sick all on our own—
           once, my mother stopped on the side of the road to apply lipstick—
I watched her, mouth open then close, then open then look to me in the rearview mirror,
                      you look just like him-evidence of a kind of inheritance—
                                  evidence of a grief or violence, evidence of a prayer we left on the
                                  porch, left leg missing-evidence of a truth we spin, a church we
                                  shook, a monsoon we lullabied,
                                                         evidence of a dream where everyone is still alive.