Anagnorisis building in my arms,

I stumble towards the unknown in this rhyme.
May it lead me towards a joy that disarms
this self-protecting muzzle on my prime:
I want it all to come out!: the music,
the rhymes, the thoughts, the dreams, the loves, the loss
of loves (I was ready. She was too sick) –
every expression of my unborn cross!
He's a stranger, looking for a manger;
like Joseph he doesn't really fit in
to our story, our history. Danger
spreads across noble home from the kitchen:
I'm not Christ, but I am being reborn
for you, trigueñita; your face is like corn.
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