THE CROSS OF HISTORY

I dissolved in the crystals of undiscovered stones,

I live among the cities, invisible

as the air between slices of bread.

I’m contained in the rust

on the edges of the anchors.

In the whirlwind I am a child

beginning to believe in living gods.

I’m the equivalent of the migrant birds

that are always returning, never departing.

I want to exist among the continuous verbs,

in the roots that sleep

among the foundations of the first houses.

In death I want to be

a soldier of undiscovered innocence,

crucified by history

on a glass cross through which

in the distance flowers can be seen.