Scrap3 1

Pensive Armadillo at the Embankment of a Cacophonous Asphalt Road



In this heat I unfurl.
Difficult as armadillo traversing all of
Hidalgo County, and my skull so small,
You could crush me in one flex
Of wrist muscle and rope.

This body, my body that beneath
You is no one. No, no tendon. No ligament,
But piedra, perhaps, adobe baked
Centuries, mouthful of el Rio Bravo, maybe;
Malleable, I’m certain. Beneath you,
Anything plausible—

An armadillo as lithe as the little flower
of the moon; You on my back,
and here, I am marvelous as
Mud. In this heat, I unfurl.