In a dream I see herds of horses
running through my father’s land--
stomping and bucking mad dancers
in delight. My father spurs his horse
and rides next to me; telling me
that all I can see will be mine.
But there is nothing, so I search
for gold. Whole cities paved in it,
glowing in the setting sun.
In Tenochtitlan I find Marina,
dark brown flesh like I’ve never seen,
a grip that draws blood during a war
where I kill not for survival but for conquest.
With every slice of every sword,
with every axe’s blow, those savages
open and give until rivers of their red blood
glisten and shine. And Marina, I don’t think
a savage can ever be satisfied.
I give her my name, and she gives me
children that carry the curse
of her race. And still I never regret
the greatest conquest man will see;
still it is their blood against my gold.