Letters on a Rock Outcrop

Full moon shines down,

an amber glow
upon a wind-worn outcrop.

Three shapes with barely
a shadow form letters:
an “S” made up of a skull,
a torn sarape, two femurs
and some gnawed-off toes.

Inside it a smaller “S”,
a same-size skull
with horn-rimmed
spectacles, a T-shirt
with a star inside a circle,
two tiny femurs,
and a blur of wind-torn
white shoelaces.

A third, and even smaller
“S” is nestled there,
and when the night chill ends,
it separates itself,
an “S” and then another
“S” until it is an undulant line
off to the horizon.

The desert snake knows where
to find the water.

Maria from Chimaltenango
did not; her son
Pablito, did not.

The moon spoke
neither K’iche nor Spanish;
the American sun
killed them.