Flor de Muerto, I wanted to fade into the soil,
where I could touch the roots of Azucena,
before I bury myself six feet deep,
hoping to inhale the fragrance of her grace.

Even if I bury myself to the grave,
Azucena would bloom through my ribs.

I don’t want Flor de Muerto to take root in my heart,
I long to pray, to kneel
but the world has made me a god,
one I never asked to be.