Voladores de Papantla
At the epicenter of a camphorized pole ascending towards the sky,
four man birds levitated towards the womb of the mother sun.
Their pueblo clay faces shyly greeted the rays-
marked by jagged terrains of age
they allowed themselves to fall,
into their cicada and sunflower colored winged cloaks
their turns like red starburst flames dancing in the wind.
This touch of fire perforating the sky
like moths in a summer night
with silence broken into
by the echoed breaths of a hallow shell,
of the adobe faced man birds inviting the sun
in a low whisper to sleep
wandering into this modern life.