El Cachapecero

Something moves at the bottom
of the Boreal Chaco
shadows of oxen and cart
seeking the boundary,
slow shroud of moon
over the cachapé;
death of the giant of the mountain
on his final journey.
Let's go... Tiger... Bull...
Spark... Horn...!

And the forest is ignited
by the crack of the whip
and it's a crunchy music
through the rugged solitude.
Road and cart keep marching
and as they roll, they awaken
in the man
a whole world of illusion.

A coiled snake hangs
from the vegetal roof
in the danger of the swamp
hooves in a stampede
and a green tunnel carries
two glowing pupils
on the trunk of life
towards the sun...
Let's go... Tiger... Bull...
Spark... Horn...!