"Una Chinita."
Una Chinita.
She carries no moon like a dog in her arms.
Another femur of a mad ape fractured in her thigh.
But lung has gone to doilies.
Her brow eaten by stars.
Crickets hide in her lobes in her fibrous tissue,
waiting to be born from her pores.
At the auspicious hour of the Prince,
sane and handsome, riding from his kingdom
through fire on a snorting ice horse.
Knowing this, immune to knives, mother to sailors
calling over mountains.
She walks through the brown moonlit forests.
And the sea crushes itself running after.
The owl's eye her and plunge willfully to the ground
on their steel heads.