Baptista has a great style, a type of wild, high voltage Borges kind of imagery. Things are always happening, and you're racing to keep up. That's the kind of energetic poetry I like--no bland, nothingness here. Here's an excerpt from the beginning:
gold’s priest, necromancer
well versed in magic and mine,
came to Brazil in banishment,
celebrated strange masses,
murdered imprisoned natives,
stole young women from their loves
in an attempted defense
of his far-flung exploits
he drafted with depraved fist
a testimonial to customs absurd
on this other side of the world
[...]
Her "Pablo Vera" is excellent as well, here's a few lines from the end:
[...]
with a mask all smoke
and a child’s voice
(a god speaks through him)
recalls a future
of jubilo and fright
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