There is a plant
whose seed shall never sprout
until it’s fruit has passed
through the belly
of Javalin

It is we who shall never bloom
until we offer our mother’s fruit
into the belly
of Javalin

Within the darkness of his bowels
something so persistent
finally cracks:
and the essence,
the essence of our true being
at last may sprout again.

I do not fear the Javelina’s jaws
nor his belly, for his bowels,
and so this fruit of my mother
I gladly crush
and offer
with my own hands.