In a clay pot
Served by Mayan queens with wide cheek bones,
The kings are made of stone
In glyphs of crystalline wisdom
Attended by giant blowing horns,
Elongated skull headresses,
Bird feathers that are not bird feathers.
A brown basilisk ascends
Before the pyramid eye,
The clouds bolt upright
From the end of the horizon,
The white light overwhelms
The snake flamingo tile
Whose colors can't be seen
By naked human eyes.
The merbird plays a lute,
The rana-frogs chirp,
The green broom sweeps,
The old king holds a jaguar pot
Of golden lightning
Disguised as quetzel feathers
As if our immortality is not
Always near enough to us.
