- Vol. 04
- Chapter 11
Wrapped in wrath he sat Burning at low flame.
Batting eyelashes Like wings, like waving banners.
Crouching under the yoke can be Crouching before the jump:
A spring storing rage, A cactus storing water,
Growing spines as spears, And the sweetest fruit, scarlet like
Quetzal, creature of the sky, Batting his wings. The leaves of
A cactus growing buds, Delicate like freedom.