As I
peered at the stone
of the Aztec seasons
in the museum, Moctezuma
walked by. Shall I
Find a jade bud
beneath the Great River?
Huehuecoyotl, old mischief god,
howled. Twilight
hurricanes that
will trapeze to halbreds
on pendulums of porphyry
and lead.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem