I’m Going to Xibalba

I’m Going to Xibalba

i’m going to Xibalba

to the land of the dead

where father and mother wait

for me holding their hearts

made of black stones

where dreams and memories

become a handful of dust

where the light meets the night

and the sky becomes red like copper

where the crows roost in a valley

cluttered with long white bones

where the jaguar drags its shadows

cluttering its heavy yellow bones

across withered maize fields

i’m going to Xibalba

where, i’ll crumble to dust

like a heap of broken stones;