I watched from the earth,
low in dry grass, trying
not to breathe, blink, or stir.
Gray mist spilt from the lips
of men dressed like Pilgrims, like Custer,
like Mounties. I don’t know when
I was. Or where. Everywhere,
everywhen, was the point.
Dark morning or late day, I
watched continents reunite,
watched mountains kiss and blur.
All that had been severed
was married back to itself.
Deep seams of reunification
scarred the whole of the earth,
the error of division mended—
or else it was time itself I saw,
rolling forward and back. I saw
white men unloading figures
from ships, trucks, crates. Efficient
and perfunctory, like art handlers,
only the bodies were living: bound
at the wrists, iron complicating
their necks. I strained to watch
and comprehend…
