Sometimes, when everyone is asleep,
we rise quietly.

We open our windows, remove screens.

Bike. Skateboard. Ride into the night.

We meet in alleyways,
behind industrial buildings,
beneath highway underpasses.

Tonight, our backpacks are our shadows.
Tonight, spray paint,
an extension of an arm.

We are echoes passing through tunnels.

We are tree roots eating through dirt,
breaking through concrete.

All we want is the quietude of dignity
& our own names.

Whatever beauty exists, exists for us too.

StarsOcean.Wings of a dragonfly.

Tree bark.Wet earth.Breeze.

Whatever beauty exists, also exists
in our names:

de la Torre. Cabrera. Salvatierra.

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