Inside the maw, two faces

carved deep in stone block

eye riddled by scar tissue

black bead piercing its’ socket.

Struck by lightning – caught

in a leaf of ornate Rio Bec.

eyes turned inward by long dry season

black mask grown over where light empties out

Willing tempests to melt away their enclosure

bring final surrender to the lords of death.

mouth is smudge, incoherent

mouth is cartouche, full of silent vowel

Lady K’abal Xook at a door

opening of her house,

elevated in her image of penance,

drawing a thorn-studded cord

through her tongue, her speech

her secret word, her place of power.

She is the pillar before the waters at Pa’chan.

She is the holy woman at heart center.

She induces the Other in her reflection

who rises from the earth, who makes things sprout,

dressed in signs of dominion.

She submits her blood, her reverent being

to the fiery spear that holds the public vision:

Resurrection engaged to battle.