Mayan Temples Poem by Sonny Rainshine

The disintegrating steps of the ruins
at Chichen Itza lay scorched in the sun.

The guide told us that for years the pyramid
had been obscured with jungle vines.

I looked to the pinnacle before I began to climb
and stared down eternity.

Step up.
Step up.
Step up.

Streamers of inexplicable regret,
like choking lianas, descended on me
when there were no more steps.

I withered in the absence of the gods.