• 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.