I do not know when we were mud in your hands,
raw mixture of veins and tendons,
within the simple perfection of a spiral.
In Us there is no memory of dust,
and despite the fingers that strike upon us,
there is a tremor that shines in our temples
that sings to us the defeat of death.
And I know that you are there, that you wait for us:
How could we dream if not, with so much blood?
How to lie down and wake up if not, just in a scream?
If I did not know,
I would blind my eyes
sewing my eyelids with the skin
that they left in fences and barbed wires.
I would seal my ears with the dust of their bones
That were reduced in gigantic chimneys.
if it were not so,
then I would not be this chrysalis, all hope:
I would throw my body among the worms,
I would abhor the earth.