Birds singing in the dark night

 Birds singing

in the dark night

        — Rainy dawn

        in Pachamama’s Aguas Calientes.

Peru has a way of remaining

Frozen in memory.

        The sad mummies,

        The quiet towers,

        The unspeaking stones

        of Machu Picchu

Speak the fame

of Pachamama and her Aguas Calientes.

When Pachamama had a tiff

With Pachapapa,

and the waters froze:

        from the harbor of Panama to the land of Simon Bolivar,

        from Venezuela down to Peru,

A cloud of incense shot through the forest

And nobody could breathe

In Pachamama's Aguas Calientes.

It reminded everyone of what was power,

and it was the same day, the volcano blew.

And the river swelled up

And drowned everything

        In Pachamama's Aguas Calientes.

 

I read this story

of Pachamama and her fury

How the river rose up and flooded one and all.

        It reminded me of the day the river ate my boat,

        and my own humble experiences with waters

and, as the river gurgled besides us,

        Namaamyaham, namaami aham

I could not but bow in respect to Pachamama

When I was in her Aguas Calientes.