when we want to meet rainbow

we begin by tracing the road to the cloud after rain,

the flower grows on my mother's cheeks/

broken bottles/

and silhouette of liquor that looks

like my body. my father knows

about memory hidden in the walls of the bar. they murmur his names and say

you this man is it not late to hold your home?

you sometimes find yourself looking

for your body/ in the sigh of your mother,

the shadow of your mind sometimes

pick a run into roads that lead:

— to an empty pot,

— to the echoes of slaps,

—to your little brother's eyes holding water for what your mother and father become at nightfall.

you bring yourself closer to the sun. you say— burn me. have me into ashes/I want to forget how the sky looks in my father's eyeballs.

you could not burn. you know your mother will become a river

that you won't like to drown in if you close your nose.

you call the birds to borrow you wings/

the wind to convey you into the torso of stars. you want to glint,

but you can not because it will distance

you from home.

you go to the waterfall in your eyes

and fetch enough for yourself,

you say— in the name,

of the father,

the son,

and the holy spirit,

you give god your father and mother/

waiting for when he will return them through the road of redemption.