Vibrantly plumed, circle inscribed,
feet pelting earth, a prayer given
toward spears of light, that divide
day from night, and earth from heaven.

Bodies moving, summoning rain.
Painted, jeweled, flowers in hand.
Songs of victory and distant pain.
Stories of when the world began.

Fresh smoke rises, flags in the wind.
Temples and homes set afire.
Gifts of fever, lesions, and sin
brought by men in strange attire.

Father Sun swapped for father and son
and ghost and gold that compel
exploration, exploitation,
and salvation through earthly hell.

Masters and motives are replaced; 
the poor still work to feed them.
Yet centuries cannot erase
memories of ancestral rhythms.  

Originally published in SENSATIONS MAGAZINE, Supplement 9

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