A powerful monarch once

Torn to pieces by his own fierce hunting dogs

(but) now a timorous heart

The moon is your hand mirror

Mother of Time and daughter of Destruction

Death your dog follows you down the beaches

So high our cities’ towers soar

Above the deep-set fault

Pillars of cloud and salt

I do not know if I make myself clear: when from on high

Night approaches, when the solitary poet

At the window hears autumn’s steed running

Intelligent men come drifting in from the sea/

And from the west border

Bones white with a thousand frosts,

High heaps, covered with trees and grass;

Who brought this to pass?

Who has brought the flaming imperial anger?

Who has brought the army with drums and kettle drums?

And we guardsmen fed to the tigers.

I am homesick after my own kind.

Ezra Pound’s/Personae; Pablo Neruda’s/Residence on Earth;

Ursula LeGuin’s/Late in the Day; Sor Juana Inés De La Cruz’/

Selected Works.