The reptile has shed its skin
The scales, scattered away like time
Strange hours abound
Gold glimpsed in the afternoon scenery
Visions of Mexico; empty house and wooden furniture

Meanwhile, the strings are being cut by the blade
Disconnection, a brief bright flash of the cold
And He opened his eyes
Awoken in the darkness, an aztec paint on his face

Glass sphere and this odd scenery
The surface, like a cosmic journey,
Smooth and vast,
With the Sun's kiss on its cheek