La Venta Fantasy

In the night when I cannot sleep,

The jaguar-baby, feline, quiet,

Drinks the blood of the plumed serpent

In jungles of flowers.

He gives her delicate pale orchids

And woven blossoms of frangipani,

But she will not smile, being still capricious.

She has no teeth but her mouth is hard.

She is carved in jade or fingered in clay;

She is black or green, or she gleams out

Phosphorescent, pseudo-shining

Like the walls of the seven cities of old

Of white adobe, argent in light,

Addling the hungry conquistadores.

Better to speak to the chilly grass

For the jaguar-baby will not answer.