Breathe Los Angeles,

help us understand your moans, 

your restless legs—

and tell me why,

as soon as my unemployment money hit my bank account, 

you shook?

Tell me why it’s impossible to look out my window, 

and not see Elleggua’s face?

The sky 

splits in thirds,

a past

the present

a future.

You are the bark, 

and the alarm.

Skies of red and blue, 

you transmute.

You witness, 

and applaud us for the misfortunes that 

will mutate into

benediction.

Allow us this ache.

Bless us with it.