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Reflex and release
No thought connections here
Only
the sweep of the brush
Uncovering a stone Jaguar
While ancient dust
rises
Smoking the dry still air
That smells of Casaba and fear.
Then
as tension builds
On the restless arc
An obsidian eye appears
Alluring
in its simplicity.
All the while the brush moves
Shards, dust, and
sand
Revealing more Glyphs
The long count, bloodletting, and myth
For
here the Maya spun a sky
Alive with baby tears.
