When I wake up
the house is singing an aria.
The heirloom waterstains bloom
with each crescendo.

At the closing of a door,
my families roots are pushing
through floorboards. Marshlands
fill the empty highway.

You stand in corners, faceless girl
on your arm. Your name rolls around
her mouth like a cat's eye.

My friends are on the roof,
sipping champagne from open palms.

In the earthquake
I only can save myself.
I look for safety
in a school desk.

Then the world is rivers
of orange-creamicle fabric,
prayer mandalas turning
in song, in song, in song.