We had peach tree in the yard. I remember thinking about how small it was compared to other trees. My two year old Boxer, Sidd, circled around the tree. A whirlpool of force and breath. His harvesting ritual. He would grab one with his slobbering mouth as he ran around and around, eventually sinking into the grass to eat it. I watched him and laughed with delight. My dog loved to eat juicy, fuzzy peaches.

Then my mother would walk out back, see him on the ground, chewing away. “Sidd!” she yelled. “No!!” as she ripped the peach from his mouth. He looked up with his tail between his legs.

His sad eyes seemed so familiar.

the stars           tell stories
of new love
and old families
ancestors,
those who’ve
glimmered in the sky before us
hidden
among constellations
and bright white

who we are lies
within the shapes
of fish and lions
somehow we’re able to
connect
our lives
with the small fragments of light

stars are already
dead
and we’re already
alive

earthquake.
the               sh
  ground          ak
                            es-
you spit butterflies,
I
      swallow.

a rumble in my stomach
reverberates in
          dirt,
b l o s s o m i n g   flowers.
sunlight, sweetness,
fruit of my          intestines.

 t
 r
ee  of your      lips
    basking in wet dew.
foggy morning-
        I see       you.
                                        n
I breathe     your      i                  b
                           ra                      ow    
and burst
into     bright  light.