I’ve been to Tikal.
I wanted to see this ancient city.
Let me fly through like a viceroy.
Light, airy, and blithely,
I careen through the stone,
and you take me to the highest point.
I speak to the native Guatemalan.
He tells me of the blood guilt that ridden the lands.
I taste the copper in the air.
I feel a torrent of emotions.
He takes me to the burial grounds.
Filled with chaos,
the rage slowly fills one.
From a viceroy to a dragon,
I bathe in smoke.
I am foreign to this locale.
I must fly away, away, to home.
Take me home from my trip to Tikal.