EARLY MORNING IN THE STREETS OF ANTIGUA
February 6th 2020 I leave rising from the plains burning dry heat a landscaped apron of mango trees stretched drum tight under smoking volcano Fuego his sister Agua their brother Acatenango west wind raising a loose horsetail of pumice dust from Acatenango’s flank rust colored against turquoise the gouged once molten rivered mountainside is etched deep trampled glowing red they lied when they told us who is burie
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