213. QUETZALCÓAlt

213. Quetzalcoatl

Twice I is: Of what lavas navigators, tenebrous? What star grains of society, unattainable? Stinging pyramid of the underside You scaled side, gray, bet. Of what bleeding jewels, splinters was her tender look? What dew, torn from some constellated petal, was his sweat and fearlessness? From what laugh of the first spark is your leaking joy? Of what Snake in the field of the Itzeas a hoop on each snake the ball bounces on the knee, on the hip ...

Quetzalcoatl. With their white beards nods from the rostrum, heartbreak enters the ring sea I do not, without dropping I am nothing, without stopping but the stairway to the bottom at the bottom of the starry vertigo.

I am the feathered serpent Kukulkan I lift the border of the seed; cherry, spring of light submerged in the cenotes, even the mirrors of shadow;

In the corn kernels of the sky towards there turns a galactic hymn, in the heavenly lap of Hunab ku.

And roll and roll like the ball and there on a cloud noon drink the sun going down it leaks over los crespos and ceibas falling into the abyss of the jungle. The ball goes into the ring and the warrior of his blood beats enigma until, Pacal Votan Pleiadean in his descent, to the deep lord of darkness and is snatched in Eagle fluent in snake head and howls for his love of men. If all the sand goes through the sand from the field the columns vibrate plucking a root from the Serpent in the drowned mouth of the Eagle.

And It consumes and breaks and wobbles in the trip through the stars in each itzae it petrifies on the fly, at the source no one is sorry to be born.

And on the ball court, illuminated silence, by the hymn rotating and rising; by the plumage of Quetzalcóatl from Tula, Chichen itza and now Mayapan; in the immeasurable flight of the Nahualt; by the dull face in the head already torn off like a flower from the underworld Traveling on the double helical of two snakes towards infinity there looking at the old bearded man white-haired and brooding in his heavenly seed