Panthera Onca

A bloated river vomits its contents Towards the sea Debris and mud floating fast Past boulders, jutting rocks, obstacles, Creamy foam caps and whirlpools, Deadly admission to the underworld below Where the Jaguar King lives   There he sits, alone on his throne Panthera onca, God of the night He pretends to smile, licking his wounds The ones that time never healed,  From centuries of ancient battles Playing on repeat   Absorbed in the pleasure of his pain He is blind, for the moment If he would stop for one second  And take stock quietly, calmly, “He who kills with one leap”, Would admire his strength, his prowess And see that his beauty, is not vain That he has produced a kingdom Of fierce warriors, Rosettes distinct and unique Who will carry his name proudly And love him to the end of time Flawed, wounded, whole, broken Perfect   And the one who circles Who cannot fully enter Is filled with desire  To provide a balm For his wounds, and hers Relief, even healing And together the strength To come to the surface To break through the water To swim as only jaguars can And to embrace the living world  In darkness and in light