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After El Hombre by Rufino Tamayo
What will become my name
when I become a giant.
What if I wear nothing but bark?
A tree,
the people’s shadow,
the loom over loam.
Who says the earth was solid
like bedrock or
soft like the melt
of mud. Who wouldn’t
learn to plant their feet
deep until there is
no tug when I pull.
Why not root here, let my arms
branch & reach
for a language
fit for yearning: constellations.
What will my lineage say
when you cut me to a stump?
What dog will stay with me
when touching the sky
felt distant, a memory?
Chocolate flowers’ bloom,
tell me what does the sky say now
when our days grow darker,
when we wonder
what kingdom will remain? 
After El Hombre by Rufino Tamayo
Portrait of Boy with Guitar
Self-Portrait with Thunder & Exhaustion