Jaguar Child

A vortex of flecks of fire a fuego fantasma forms in the street beyond me and drifts toward the noise of the plaza trailing glittering debris. Through the cloth of my dress I touch the copper sun hanging at my breast and stand shivering shoulders against the quinta wall one cheek pressed against the fine shuck-work of the basket on my shoulder. The sweet scent of death-fragrant oils wine spices and precious woods-eddies up our street. I shiver and draw my veil over my face with my free hand. Tonight a fortune will be burned so it may go to the dead lands with the alcalde Leon Ildefonso the ruler of our town. In the distance I can hear the funeral crowd roar then roar again. They have lighted the pyre its smoke and sparks turn the sky into glowing lizard skin. Drifting against the wind a cloud of fantasmas brighter than the dull red moons speckles everything below them with lurid light.... No one is interested in me: time to go.