2:00 PM
In the zócalo
1
Three brujas:
one spins the yarn,
one measures the cloth,
one wields the black obsidian knife,
trimming each tiny thread.
Infinitesimal clockwork figures
balancing on wool,
their mouths opening
and closing, silent, like goldfish.
Wooden teeth comb each thread,
the shuttle always moving,
weaving whose fate?
Interlaced castillos,
scintillating cities,
grecas floating lighter
than this relámpago
lightening the air.
2
Or you can start with the glow-
worm of a match – luciérniga,
Lucifer – the bringer of light.
High flames flickering
on zopilote’s wings
bring an end to darkness.
Women at their chimeneas
breathe fire into shavings,
a red glow into charcoal,
flame into fire hungry bark.
Watch the new life kindle the clouds,
the new day walking its plank of fire.
Your shadow on the wall:
a new star rising
among star-crossed generations.
rogermoorepoet 
Thank you, Tanya. The mask is at the bottom of the stairs and I look at it every day. It is made from pottery and represents the four ages we pass through. The figures are braided from straw and stand on a natural, untreated wool arm rest. Well, we use it as an arm rest. The red yellow and black extract is from a larger tapete (carpet / rug). The photo of the clouds was taken, just before the afternoon rain, outside our apartment in Oaxaca.
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I loved the pictures you selected to accompany this. Obsidian’s Edge is fascinating!
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