On the Preserved Body of an Inca Child Frozen to Death as a Sacrifice to the Sun

The priests collected your teeth,all your cut hairs from the ground,the parings of your nails,so that, dead, in another worldyou do not have to go searching farfor the parts of your body.And will you there be able to make againfrom these immature scraps,and from your frozen shell,the head that shaded, mouth that spoke to,hands that played with this silverdoll of the goddess, these flocksof small gold cattle? If elsewhereyour strong fingers assemble the piecesor if here the empty formof your body, more real than the icethat for centuries treasured up its flesh,walks through us, still the sun's lightwhich makes us its instrumentscan't find you. The sunfor whom you were staked in the snowonly fills the places empty of you,making us see what is donein his own false nameto the poor tongues of his fire.