The hills hunch their backs
and leap above the marshes
that wash about the calabash
of the Great Soul
Rumours of treason spread
like burning swords
the veins of the earth
swell with nourishing blood
the earth bears
towns villages hamlets
forests and woods
peopled with monsters horned and tentacled
their long manes are the mirror of the Sun
they are those who when night has come
direct the regiments of bats
and who sharpen their arms
upon the stone of horror.
the souls of the guilty
float in the currents of air
on the galleys of disaster
paying no heed to the quarrels of the earthbound
with fangs of fire
they tear from the lightning its diamond heart.
Surely the scorn is a gobbet of smoking flesh
surely the spirits recite the rosary of vengeance
but like the black ear of wickedness
they have never understood a single word
of the scorpion’s obscure tongue:
stubbornness
nor the anger of the snake-wizard
nor the violence of the throwing-knife
can do anything against it.
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