She starts to tell me about

dripping nectars of pacha mama

and I find myself drifting away

into worlds where people just love

respect and gather

where men don't put their hands together

over dead flesh to remember puffs of ancestors

or praise the sacred masculine

that requires blood to protect the sacred feminine

rising from the ashes of unfairness

In that world we dance and don't think

about happiness and prosperity

and crystals on third eyes that empower

our beings of light and inner wisdom

Yummy goodness of the temple

of goddesses, - she continues

I'm long gone. I need to gather water

from the creek that runs from the mountain

dripping water that saw the moon

into glass, for tea