"The Chrestomathies of Omecíhuatl--
Giver of Life."
"I have tasted both womb and shaft.
My body bore their tides.
Why do our lips mortar against grace and confession--
the boundaries between?
Within us, how does name giving birth the hour, the hours open?
We named water to your body where our bodies were.
Opened, you taste it.
The wound salts.
The nape of the pure mouth hungering,
the tremor across the opalescent.
Death enters between language and autonomy.
My love, darkness sings water unto, unto water.
But you said, no water veils, no narrative wrapping the flower.
I say, sharpen the knives against the stone's heart,
gut its guilt, measure the length, the shell of our body.
But would you return me?
I would return winter's fall from frost, the organ
from pulse.
Love, your death praises wholeness on our altar--
its door unlocking our human space."