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’/