palabras que son flores que son frutos que son actos.
—Octavio Paz, “Himno entre ruinas”
The mountain is too small to be a mountain
but the legend of a lovelorn princess who hanged
herself and drops from the trees like a fruit,
slows down the childish walk up to the top,
if childish heart dares leave the school’s wire gate.
The mountain in the school is friendlier.
One grade climbs naturally to the next,
affords a higher ledge on which to view
the world prostrate beneath the childish feet,
the word a flower becoming a fruit the act.
The deception of flowers! The lie of fruit!
What is full of life is also full of death.
The word refuses to live with the act.
The school, and its wire gate, lies in ruins.
The mountain flowers still, shading the sun.