TEUHTLILLI
            Then down to brass tacks: These wan wanderers
            Indeed match those who skimmed our shores last year.
            See- Here’s my schoolyard scribbling of their looks:

MOTECUHZOMA
            What are these? Iron pipes on lumbering wheels?

TEUHTLILLI
            A roaring, dragon-mouthed machine of war,
            Whose entrails discharge hails of shooting stars.
            When leveled at a mountain’s rocky crags,
            The cliff face cracked, disgorging its rich veins,
            Then, splintered into chips a knotted pine.
            Their porters picked their teeth with the remains,
            Like sullied spirits in a sulfurous haze.

MOTECUHZOMA
            What is this shambling menagerie?

TEUHTLILLI
            Some over-magnifying strain of hound,
            Whose *****-yellow eyes flash sparks of flame,
            And lolling tongues lob down to glut for blood.

MOTECUHZOMA
            And these? Some hybrid hash of man and stag?

TEUHTLILLI
            No, sire, but merely stilted, toothy does
            That suffer men to play at pick-a-back.
            Their plate-wide hooves dig wells at each impress,
            And lofty eyes peep over the city walls.

MOTECUHZOMA
            What is their destination?

TEUHTLILLI                                   Here, my lord.
            They’re full of inquiries, but send you gifts:
            These chokers of green glass- Quite lovely things.

MOTECUHZOMA
            What is the subject of their questions?

TEUHTLILLI                                                     You, my lord.