by Juan Morales
Above the continent,
Sun God and Sister Moon oversee
the Four Quarters, calling
down to Tawantinsuyu,
settled in its hum,
stretching southward
along coastlines
with mountains that segment
the entire band.
With its rivers,
the Four Quarters thrust
through deserts, tumble
jungle vine
to bend into the towns
illuminated by Viracocha’s spark,
past sloped farmlands
and roads
that network the supple,
working body. To the west,
the ocean’s
clustering boats
easing to shore.
Still above,
Sun God and Sister Moon
are witnessing, calling out
Tawantinsuyu,
but failing to rouse anyone
for the coming booms
of steel, the end
of imperial routines.
