Liquid moonlight watched you drink the brew
Through leaves of the Guardian trees.
You’d pinned hopes to this drink
Prayed it wouldn’t kill you,
Visions & all.
After the retching you lay upon a quilt
Keeping dew from your clothing;
A comforting something to grab hold of
At Machu Picchu,
all the Grandmothers long since dead.
Stomach cleared, you prayed for visions
And one was granted.
Telling me the story later,
You said a Jaguar came to you
not drunk, just you.
He taught you how to fly & other useful things.
Most of which you didn’t remember.
I didn’t believe you about the Jaguar –
Too many people want him & not the rat
or ant or vulture riding on updrafts.