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