At Tenochtitlan, the sun beat down harshly / The sweltering heat made the gravel and sand swim and go hazy
I don’t have anything happening to me that hasn’t already muddled its way through you.
Little moments of beauty and cruelty that excite its angelic tendencies
Did fires burn through the last ancient woodland? /
Boughs that breathed the air before us, /
Reached deep into soil our fingers never touched.
I can feel what you mean when we/ hear the same bells/
ringing peace through the night while/
we taste the cold air…
there is a wall /
between us and a horde— /
mass of angels come to usher us all / at once /
back to nothing