from Temazcal: The Steam House Chronicles
They are at it again.
up behind the gray cloak of night
facing off on the old ball courts.
Twin Thunderers smashing hips,
kicking at large boulders.
Every time an elbow or heel lands in the scuffle,
shards of ice rain down on us here in the Middle World.
The match must be over now.
The knocking of hips and boulders has ceased above the clouds.
The only thing that remains is a soft rain —
tears from Mother Sky and her sisters mourning the sacrifice of one of her sons.
(c) 2019 / Frank LaRue Owen / purelandpoetry.com
image: Jezael Melgoza