Thank you for the illustration, Girard. It's really wonderful -- and not something I would have noticed. Thank you, brother.
Here is a second-person lament that I wrote many years ago:
Chichen Itza
Chichen Itza,
shake your feet of my dust.
I feel the world's dead
crouched in my step.
I trudge at the hewn
edge of your stone
Like all pilgrims,
leaving.
I bear my grief unoffered
in my circled arms,
On the cut stone tongue
of my repentance,
In the great shame
roaring in my face.
The holy sun
burned you of your blood.
It burns the altar
wells of Itza,
White as the high
stone of the king's
Ragged step
to heaven.
You leap like priests on the plain
for the Mayan sky,
For the wash of rain rushing
from the white sun,
In the forgiveness burned
down on your stone.
I came to the bones
of your city by darkness.
I bore my grief red
beast to your stone.
I came to bid
blood bear my blood,
But you stood white as kings,
Rebuking.
You are the white undoing of things,
The feathers of a death I have not worn,
The holystoning of a sun
I have not known.
~*~
Best wishes,
Bruce
May the boundless knowledge that time presents and space allows illuminate the native perspectives of your original face.