Colima

Church bells clatter through smoky air tonight
as a dark-skinned porcelain doll
of a girl in a white dress
stands on the steps of the catedral
holding flowers for Confirmation-
posing for a picture
as bells of bronze ring bright to cut
through haze and sulfer wind
of molten iron, this humid breeze
falling heavy
descends from the east
and drifts across brick and arch,
dome, fountain and statue
of this fragile outpost they call Colima

Across the square,
a mariachi band soldiers on
twin fiddles, guitar and bass
as trumpets harmonize accents
waiters bring out meals
under the lid of smoke-
while just a few heartbeats away,
far above the treeline
towering out of the blackness comes
hot breath as big as God,
smoke and powder rock and roar
from earth's liquid core
belching above this quaint town,
with it's lovers on benches
scattered round the bandstand,
and couples strolling arm in arm
past vendors selling wares
and crafts in the weary air

Everyone, without a word
agrees not to see
nor to ignore
the indifferent God
who turns his back to the wind
and casts his gaze over the treetops of Colima
to the dark sea beyond