A Polypore and a Termite Nest

[lone_thrift]

In a jungle in Chiapas
I made the acquaintance
of 1500 angels.
And met the Spirit
of the pure life.
On Coffee mountain
near soaring birds,
I spoke to the future
in the form of now.
He was lovely and lean
with smooth, sunned skin.

Graciously, angels held me.
Spirit of pure life
touched me.
In my rest, I
dreamed of people as
warm flames in
a blanket of darkness
along the river where
spirits crossed
if they wished with their
warm, gentle glows.

In the jungle of Chiapas
I danced to drums
as fire tickled out beads
of sweat from my chest.
Met a warrior prophetess.
She walked 10 feet above
and radiated the light
of the sun and I crafted
a table for her.

In the jungle, rivers
gather sediments to
make stone flow with forms
like the bodies of angels
and prophets.
Pools of water to leap into.
Rivers of medicine mirroring
canopies of Mayan jungle.

In the night of Chiapas
we steamed in the river
after Temescal ceremony.
Then, traveled to Oaxaca
to meet a tree
whose seed fell in me.
This grows with angels and
prophets on its leaves,
a river of medicine
flowing to roots.

Back in the jungle near
Mayan ruins
I heard songs of a million
angel insects.
And then came rain
upon a palm thatched peace
on an ancient hill.

In the pure life
near the river,
I stayed just enough to
hold the Spirit,
listen to the songs and
see the sun lift green
maize from the earth.