Chiapas

we strolled down the mountain,
still the fog settling on the branches,
barefoot, half-drunk,
we began gathering the limbs of trees--
pears, peaches, pines, cypresses,
in their branches, lifeless, I picked the sweet,
likened, orange flamed fruit,

fallen branches, cut down, for the sacred fire

felt my heart raising,
singing somebody's name or
maybe a prayer
as I held the ax
and let it fall, over and over,
onto the lifeless body

I did ask, for forgiveness,
license,
my limbs, though tired, kept working,
sweating, beating,
truths from the shaman kept circling
as vultures waiting for a meal,

Fallen, still giving,
I find myself amid broken hearts,
seeing the truths dancing,
circling above and around me,
as my tongue tastes the flames,
as life, yours, mine,
is fed to the sacred fire

(the 21rst. the Mayan and descendants begin to prepare for the 5th. Sun, where the new humanity will emerge. the ceremony of the sacred fire marks the beginning of the new era)