Under the Plumed Serpent’s Temple

With a bulb-twist, dusk. Pyrite ignites galaxies on walls already receding to dream. Constellations pulse new myths against his mind. Heartbeat of the People. Cadence of emergence. Forty feet underground under open sky, the archaeologist staggers. Shadow coils tighten his chest. Fragile shattering.

These are not his stars. There is no way home.

on the outside
night pane

—Ann K. Schwader