Xana

She's human and lays eggs,
blonde hair is white.
She has her house in a tree
and tattoos on her arms,
a headband of strawberries,
a heart up high
made with star dust
and amber are her shoes.

Always incubating stars
underneath her skirt
turned into chicks
before dawn breaks.
If the capercaillie is in heat
she looks for him in the mountains
and there on the forest floor
they mate while singing.

Xana, Xana, Xana,
I'm enchanted and trapped
and the mystery clears up
because when morning comes
I always turn into water.
Xana, Xana, Xana.

She's related to the cloud,
to the cuélebre. Don't look for her
she arrives unexpectedly
by air or by water.
Inventor of the night
entangling, mischievous.
She has men captive
and women awake.