To a Chihuahua

bright falling, warm bringing,
daytime sun, at last you come,
the windowdog sleeps
finally warm beneath your heated breath,
and under the spell
of your wizardly attack,
her Aztec master predecessors
like wraithes do haunt her still,
she dreams of pyramids
and feathered robes,
of Great Quetzalcoatl
and the flying serpent
before the blinding bright gold ball,
the blazing sun of Montezuma.

A January morning
1976