“We are drowning in oil,” you said
“Then comes the final drought.”
Looking into my turning heart
your eyes stared deeply wide
inky-black pools and rich-dense
just like those infidel fields of oil.
You became a magus of Mayans
in my mind, a holy visitor from
the jungle Uxmal, Tulum, Palenque
ancient cities of advanced astronomy
sacred mathematics and prophecy.
You spoke truth. “They came and saw,
they conquered all and they burned.”
The soft green good Yucatan
a vast dark killing field became
blood thicker than human sacrifice.
The temples only treasure vaults
for ungodly hubris, greed and gain.
The world is like that now:
mosques and temples ruined
streets and highways aflame.
Verdant forests and creatures gone
we perish in the thick petroleum
of our desire, anger, self-service,
Times Square of aspirations.
The world is truly like that now:
junk-bondsmen craven gods
oil heiresses icons of eternal beauty
regarded images unhinged unfounded.
Sacred spaces are descended upon
by helicopters and Air Force One
to welcome simian Martian presidents.
Priestly smudge pots chase the odor away.
Yes, the world is really like that now:
a geopolitical entertainment zone
playground ruins of the rich and famous.
Your eyes gleam-gaze through mine.
You ask me if I’m stoned in a way I am.
For at this very moment in you
I live altered, touching something ancient,
huddling at the foundation of a pyramid
watching your people die. “It is inevitable,”
you said. “All these will become death.”
Earlier I was anxious when you whispered:
“Let’s wait for the coming night, my love.
We will be far away and much sweeter then.”
Now is our time to fully understand:
dig deep the sacred inner temple,
grow outward with clear intention.
This is the great healing-time.
© William Torphy