The men and women villagers br with their crooked yellow teeth br obsidian eyes and black jade hair br stand talking on the dusty street. br br One utters words that sound like br the flocking of tropical birds mixing br with water splash riffing along rills, br off rocks, spilling into dark pools of silence. br br And one summons blue windsong br through the milpa on steep slopes, br nahuals of lightning strike bone, br the jaguar growls deep in canopy. br br A third's tongue grinds corn br in a metate rhythm, flint on flint br sparks, stone crafting stone br shakes the death rattle of ancients. br br When its my turn br to open my mouth br and begin to speak br my words seem to fall br br thin and distant, br pale bodies whose souls br have flown far away, br a world apart.