Heartbreak on Atitlán

Hands are touching.
You start with dust beneath your feet.
You start with a prayer. Sun is blinding. You whispered a prayer.
A dark head in the rain, heartbreak.

I do not know the language behind her teeth, heaps of earth and stone.
I do not know the song the wind sings, ancient despair.

Hear me, I shall be waiting, El Shaddai.
We have flown through thunderheads,

they are not clear, they are shrouded in dark, grasping.

Recognize me in the rain.

Volcanoes spit fire. It is starker here than at home.
Ruins circle the mountain.
A lake filled with fish and starlight.

I understand the words,

Volcanoes spit thunder, answered prayer.
The village stops
(San Pedro) leads us on.

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