by Naomi Ayala
The earth died weeping
while I lay dreaming of you.
I showed up for love: disorder everywhere.
A constellation of undoneness
spread over patches of spring.
How do you mourn water, mountains?
In the stockpile of hope, the ticking future--
a forgotten tree, a creek with peepers going mad
in the labyrinths of green
pit against all the world’s hungering.
Naomi Ayala is the author of three books of poetry; most recently, Calling Home: Praise Songs and Incantations (Bilingual Press). She’s passionate about teaching writing to absolute beginners of all ages via innovative community projects, and is founding faculty of the Write Who You Are program. She lives in Washington, DC.