Beneath you
the amethyst caves vibrate and groan,
the earth’s emptiness.
Mushrooms of pleasure
molt into dark cupolas.
Now a shade falls over you,
a chittering, the talk of infinitesimal spirits
too slight for understanding.
You open yourself
your mouth your eyes your forehead
with a sharp stone carried from childhood.
The owl
fastened like the moon against the night,
is pale, intent on your sorrow.
A vine climbs the darkness up
where blooms invert, huecos florecidos…
Before you disappear, a disfiguring music
comes in the form of a hummingbird
who mistakes your eye for a flower.
