The whistle failed all

the stars in my body.

I traveled in fear, weeping

comely songs without turning

to falsehood, took up bone

rosary after stretching skins

like the aquamarine king;

the fresh water I taught

was contagious. I sat, spit-

shining the pearlescent heads

of six hilts, palming the teeth

of my kind, decorating

an alligator, chest painted

slug village—delirium tequila

—my dead work each place

I pray, is mine an evil heart?