I too, once looked at some land 
over the caldera of Atitlán.
Follow your bliss, the others said,
but the jacarandas whispered:
I think you know better.

But why not?
Why not build a little paradise 
for a fraction of the cost back home? 
Finally have something to call my own.
Hire a guardian who knows the land 
as well as his disappeared grandfather.

I would write a little book for all my guests
with all the best places to rest and reset.
I confess it looks so good—
stone saunas and the cold plunge pools 
yoga platforms with volcano views
avocadoes, papaya and chipilin. 
The earth here gives so easily.

Maybe I was being too rigid before.
We can’t go back 500 years. 
We’ve got to move forward. 
Together. 

I mean –
who could have predicted all of this?

I wouldn’t say my workers.

I would never say my land.