Classic Poem

The Indians come down from Mixco
laden with deep blue
and the city with its frightened
streets receives them
with a handful of lights
that, like stars, are extinguished
when daybreak comes.

A round of heartbeats
is in their hands that stroke
the wind like two oars;
and from their feet fall
prints like little soles
in the dust of the road.

The stars that peep out
at Mixco stay in Mixco
because the Indians catch them
for baskets that they fill
with chickens and the big white flowers
of the golden Spanish bayonet.

The life of the Indians
is quieter than ours,
and when they come down from Mixco
they make no sound but the panting
that sometimes hisses on their lips
like a silken serpent.