days before the beginning of Carnival
and I, travelers on a voyage of rediscovery,
in Veracruz naked from the neck up.
lived three centuries, maybe more,
worlds known better to Creation,
sat at the foot of glaciers and volcanoes
to the torrents of magma and black water,
came as babies come,
in the lap of Jehovah
a tempest from which we never could return.
day we stood in a rapture of memory
the instant tropic revolution,
sprouting fins and gills
another life in a semi-aquatic realm.
night we shed our scales and sang,
gave away our promised revelations,
our combs and socks and pictures of the dead,
cut loose our anchors and our prayers
tossed them in the street, where they remained
by the tired and sated cathedral.
of all upbringing, habits and books,
music alone churned in our hearts, and said
we had entered the gates of another kingdom
by the jaguar, the myth of man and woman
reality in the long run," The blood
sap and coconut milk, a fountain
by a silver disc, our laugh,
crazed and dreamy symbol of lost and found,
from the earth, whacked on the ass,
hammered into shape, and transplanted.
day after the Carnival at Veracruz
discovered the sea of luminous creatures
all true lovers and dreamers reside,
to the early morning light upon the palms,
cultivating the body's exotic clockwork,
for the bells of long-sunk holy places,
to the all-effacing wind, the storm
curls upon itself and makes a nest of drama,
our applause our presence
if we have bathed
the ocean of plenitude.