Incan Sky

he stands at the rim of the world,

feet naked on white peaks,

ankles brushed by robes of sky,

of red and purple birds diving

into the canopy.

he stands forgotten, at the edge

of the Arctic in cloud and ice,

and the diffused blood of morning

drips from his knees.

he stands alone, beyond men’s land

and beyond where butterflies nest

in the ruins of steel statues

and stunted trees.

he stands among fluttering stars,

his cloak unfurled, black

with raven feathers woven over

yellow skies: twinges of sunset

and dark flurries flying south.



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