And so here I am
and here I see myself in white,
my skin -a midnight snowfall
where no one can stain me
with their footprints, their black footprints.
And so here I am alone.
The dawn sings to me uninhibited,
she sings of the kisses of the sun in the morning,
of the soft swaying of the stars,
their dances, their fiery weddings.
And so she sings to me in a still, small whisper,
with it she leaves me breathless,
the weight of the secrets of ages
fills up my mouth with ashes
that taste like the grave.
My tongue has become
the voice of the ancients.
And I am alone
but I don't feel alone.
Their fingers diffuse,
spreading out across my eyelids,
the dead resurrect like the sun
in my eyes.
And their wisdom in my face is a tombstone;
in my body, an Easter Sunday.
They fold in the wrinkles of a beggar woman.
They flow like tears from the open mouth of the sky.
They are sparks in the memory of children.
They hold together the stones of the Pyramids
and fill the cracks in the bones of the mountains.
And in truth our feet
begin to decompose,
to unite with the roots of the world.
And in truth we are alone
but we don't feel alone.
We carry knowledge in ivory,
mystery, forgotten nostalgia.
In our veins runs the blood
in our lungs