Nasca

We are builders of mountains,
Walking the lines,
Golden spiders
Weaving water-webs.

From the valleys to the heights,
We climb inside ourselves.

Water flies up out of the ocean
Into the sun,
Carried by the starry llama on his back
Into the Milky Way,
The llama who sups every night from the waves
Then mountains down in storms by day,
Down on the dancing women,
On the thirsty earth.

In October, when waking toads emerge from their holes,
And mate with crazy passion,
The dark toad constellation rises before the dawn sun,
Climbing higher into the heavens with each day.

Spider spiral,
Lizard zigzag,
Show me,
Show me.

Stone rivers of the pampa,
In you I bathe naked,
And swim, swim through the sky.

These words are spoken
By a shrunken trophy head,
With eyes closed
And lips sewn shut with thorns.