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In the forest far from the city
I was searching for the bodhi tree.
Cortés the Killer went there to weep
as Aztlán burned on the noche triste.
Fire came with her breathy roar.
I was consumed; I could witness no more.
It was dark, I could not see.
But I was not tired, I was not thirsty,
just hungry like I’ll always be.
The only thing I’d ever hold the way
Juan Diego held the Virgin’s rose:
One lonely lily, white as the snow,
in a desert of ash: the bitter ends
of mother of father of lovers of friends.
My mind a mirror my cup empty,
I had lost the path when Dakini found me.
A salty kiss, warm inside.
She closed around me like the sea.

I felt the wet of your sweat,
the hot of your breath,
and the cold of death left me.
I made you groan.
Yes, I made you groan.
Like a ship ‘bout to break.
Like a string and a bow.
Like the earth in a quake.
Like branches in the wind.
Like closing a door.
Like the world 'bout to end.
Like a whore.
Like a lover.
Like a friend.

References:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bodhi_tree
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Noche_Triste
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Juan_Diego
http://www.chebucto.ns.ca/Philosophy/Taichi/chuang.html
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dakini