In the human wrist is the hand enslaved by vanity. 
This Aztec obeisance chiseled centuries ago 
—Ihíio, Itlátol, His Breath, His Word— 
Now muzzled in stone, a doorway sealed. 
And of those still bound to the light? 
Those in the war against darkness, still captive? 
Liberty, ennui, graffiti.