Sumak Kawsay

We gather the shards
of shattered trust,
the world ravaged
by longitudes
and latitudes
of unreason,
a market for every
desire but
wholeness –

Indifference
to the Mother,
her abundant ice
falls and swells
the seas,
the forest shorn,
the gulf in a black shroud,
that delicate creatures
flee from her arms
and pathogens swim
in the wake.

What golden balm
to bind tectonic
rifts?

Filaments unfurl
from a great frond
in the south,
from the breasts
of Pachamama.

As she sails across
our arbitrary mark
in the deep dark, 
a gilded sphere
descends in the empty
square.