He is Huitzilopochtli, sitting in the dark,
With his redness staining the body of the night.
He is watching by the fire.
Waiting behind men.
In the stillness of his night
Cactuses sharpen their thorns.
Grass feels downwards with his roots.
Deeper than the roots of the mango tree
Down in the centre of the earth
Shines the yellow, serpent-yellow shining of the sun.