Letter to the full moon from Huitzilopochtli
Tonight, I pray thee shine somewhere
brighter than you have before, salt
the sky with your presence. The thick
skin of our backs. The hard
moon rays beating down on wide
fat nipples. That summer I spent
in the forest, along the rocky creeks.
Drank beer all day, some of us
chasing girls, chasing boys. In that
long stretch of ponderosa and
white pine where there were rattlesnakes
wound up like bike tires left to rot.
As sure as the stars in the sky
were beacons of the unknown, for destinations
unnamed, O dear Luna, cover the night with your pale
light, that it may be the last reminder
of those years before the din and racket
of the outside world let us in the rough
door, the skin droor and the smoke roaring.