The Bullet-holes in a Road Sign, Pan-American Highway

There is a purple birthmark on the throat
of the mestizo engineer who drains the aquifer
to make the copper for our mobile phones,
allowing us to chat via Google Translate:

why such dismay, o my Mother?

Mischievous wind, the Mapuche sprite
rips cagoule-hoods from our heads,
till we find refuge in a log-cabin and drift-off
to the sound of a glacier’s waters breaking.

Why such dismay, o my Mother,
and why is the sky like a shot-up road sign?

Mendoza friars tame the soil, seeded poplars,
less for their gold in evening light, but as roots
to soak-up winter floods, tall tulips packed
more to an acre than the sprawling, native firs.

Why such dismay, o my Mother,
and why is the sky like a shot-up road sign,
the holes like stars, winking moonlight down their dead trajectories?

A Chilean frog (cf. ‘The World’s Weirdest’ on YouTube),
carries their young in a vocal sac, the father literally
annunciating his offspring onto the Endangered List,
and we, lacking all irony, name them ‘Darwin’s Frog.’

Why such dismay, o my Mother,
and why is the sky a shot-up road sign,
the holes like stars, winking moonlight down their dead trajectories
to the lost forests of a southern hemisphere?