From “Xibalba [Outside the water sings]”

Outside the water sings 

its tortuous note, 

devoid of the parrot, 

devoid of the quetzal.

A song without ears, 

a dry silk wrapped around the throat, 

neither warm nor cold 

but a vacillation between the two. 

A hammer swinging 

through the aether of the flesh, 

the mind’s red line. 

Tonight a part of me shivers, liking it, 

my whole body in one place, 

where steel drags along. 

I wonder if the body wants more 

to open or to shut.