5

4.  T h e   B r u j a

The devils flesh her bones

with clumps of cinnabar.

In dreams, she comes to him,

and they stand face to face,

each inches from the other’s

wide-eyed stare.  Her breath

reeks of the deep, red earth,

and she has no eyelids.

Spells writhe in her palms

like baby diamondbacks

for which he reaches

but never touches.

Her beady eyes are quick

with hot, wobbling silver.