A little life, interrupted

As the sky, our mystic basin, azure is Her Holy Raiment.
Moist-eyed, pliant, the Child remembers Songs of Sisters long ago.
What will happen, when the time comes? Must she wait a life to know?
Something like the Games they played at, in the days before the Choosing?
Something red, and black, like wisdom, bathing face and body of?
(If not enough, another taken, or even three, or more, for Tlaloc.)


Soon enough, towards Tenochtitlán, upon Her lake come alcátin...
Gay, and tearful, is The Bright One; sad and joyous both within.
Soft and floating, 'cross the water, in the alcátin of honor,
To the spot above the whirlpool, where her future lay amurmur.
Black and shining is his life blade, quick as night across His Bright One.
Feel the rush of whirlpool coming, soon the joy of Tlaloc's face.


But in an instant come the Gold Ones, silver hair and bodies of,
Shining garments, nothing earthly, steal Her from the Otherworld.
See the priests and boatmen stricken—men on deer without the crowning,
Smokingsticks, and thunderrumbles, all Her brethren lay ableeding.
Then the darkness comes upon Her, not the joy of Rain God's laughter,
But rather Something like a Nothing, Something like a floating dread


Waiting in the sky above them, watching all the strangers come....

Onward....