everyday we cross
     over green water

 each step slow and 
           heavy with stirring

 traffic is both ha —
    lting and out of breath, here

 a suspension nest —
    led in the light and

 still touching concrete
    this walk on the early

 hall, each socketed —
    morning on our eye —

 lids gauze light begins
    stubborn opening its

 face bit by bit wait —
    ing the sky-walled move —

 ment where the heat shifts,
    with our cars there’s lit —

 tle room to talk like 
    light trespassing air —

 the birds ignore us 
    us bodies on queue

 a solar flare of pass  —
           ports and sudden hands

 an invasion —
    we are flocks without

 flight looking waterlit o —
    ver the pavement rio grande

 or rio bravo which
    doesn’t mean brave but —

 violent and here
    i am — 

 grateful i
    am tiptoeing above it 

---

Luisana Cortez is a writer studying English and Mexican-American and Latina/o Studies at the University of Texas at Austin. You can find more of her poetry in Occulum Journal, A Velvet Giant, and Rust + Moth. She tweets @putezpoeta.