Jonathan & Rikki join us along the rear arcade of the Palace. High-up seats, us leaning back against pillars, to study thick unfamiliar foliagelianas, lush green trees & vines, metallic whining of insects. The heat has me down. I listen from enormous distances as the others speak of cigar-smoking priest on the frieze at Temple of the Foliated Cross. Jonathan has his own cigar sympathetically litpasses it to Rikki & photographs her smoking it savagely among ruins. Her hair runs in rivulets down the stone arcade. I scramble off my perchdown from the arcade, across the cropped lawn. Broken steps drop to the fast silver thread riverRio Otolum. Bromeliads watch. Head thrust into clear, forceful, shockingly cold water.
Why did I expect tepid waterout of the steaming jungle? On the bottom mottled rocks & clear sand. Plunged my head in again and the water's force nearly threw me. Return to companions up on their smoking perch at the back of Prince Pacal's harem. A bandana to dry my hair and dislodge little pebbles where they've stuck in the whorl of one ear. At my departure a spider monkey shrieks
Temple of Inscriptions
and when they opened the sealed
clay pots, jewelry
Pacal's jade mosaic death mask was removed to Mexico City where
archaeologists recreated his tomb at the Museo Nacional de Antropologia.
1985 thieves got in & made off
Drenched from humidity tourists labor their way in cloud-like formations up the Temple steps. A massive German man slung with cameras sweating profusely. "Aaach!" Grey rock & emerald color'd grass.
Spinescent palms, cycads, low-branched shrubs, lianas
My love crouches beneath
Andrew Schelling | Leafcutter
Contents | Mudlark No. 9