I see you where the eagle rock stands,
watching over the canyon
strong, noble, free.
Where the dragon's teeth guard
the old stone crone, cauldron slung
across her back, picking her way steadily
towards the sleeping giantess who
dreams of Orion and his hunt
to come home.
I feel you where the rattlesnake
sheds its skin in the dark,
under a full hare moon,
with just the glow of red ancestral rocks
I hold you on the precipice,
where the hot dust wind
whispers through bamboo, tickling
the turquoise pool of El Chan,
and the yellow cactus flower scents herself.
Shall we dive into the Otherworld?
It is waiting.
I flame you like the fire water
burning a hole in the back
of my throat
in La Cucaracha,
where cigarettes smoulder in dark nooks,
hot points of lava, dancing
among smashed shot glasses,
tequila stains on my breasts.
I sweat you in the wetness
of the temezcal
with dirt-rubbed skin,
as grandfather fire smokes copal and tobacco.
I catch you with the carefree rawness
of dogs humping on steep streets
in the night, and the wildness of horses
yet to be tamed, but curious to eat
from my hand.
I call you with the passion
of the three Marys,
weeping for small Jesus
as he sweats his way at noon
around the square, bleeding.
I watch you with the sharp eye
of the purple-cloaked crone
standing by the olive tree, waiting
for the answer to the question
that has to be asked.
I know you with my gutter heart,
cut into the cobbles, foaming
with street water, yet
still reflecting the brightness
of the hot Mexican sun.