This is the shade of the sound; all the information you need

In art,

             core shadow—dark bands

shadow and light meet at the illumination cusp

a lone child under the last working lamppost

shining paths gorge in the country of sombras

             cast shadow—surface light lack

enemies of light block its beams | lovers of light block its beams

             occlusion shadow—darkness occasion

shadowgraphs dance | silhouettes lie

           the only shadow I’ve ever embraced was my

                                   mother’s

In rubble / In ruin,

wet sand encrusted bullet holes drape

the bombed prison’s walls — shade cooled

memory petrifies public space as warzone

the state unpunished in the país de las sombras

children wait for their mothers and fathers

by candlelight

los niños y niñas pray for reflections—their shadow wards

impenetrable flesh consumers tempt the twilight

to arrive just late enough

some ignite in their desire to

become darker than night

which is larger than the body allows

some hunt

                                        In red explosion \ Ablaze

There is life,

thickets blessed with the huarango’s shade

cast spells across the desert

fox, guanaco, and owl cast their shape on sand

a man slaughters them all to make charcoal

en un país de las sombras impenetrable river dark

swallows the jaguar’s shadow

There is death.

How can you feel shade at night?

I felt it in my mouth.

In Quechua,

shadow is llanthu

—

which sounds like llanto—a whimper, the weep of light.