Teotihuacan

Sunblind and sweating,
we weaved down dusty lanes,
past volcanoes spewing ashen memories
that blanketed peasant farmers
camping on the hillsides

Fields woven with agave
skipped by our
rickety Mexican coach
as sand danced on its windows,
screening our world in bronze

Anabella pulled her white hat over her eyes
and closed them to a slit
as the sun warmed my back;
sueños con los angelitos,
I breathed in broken Spanish