It is so hard to see through the earth...

Not through time,
which raises its transparent glass,
illuminating the lofty dew's resume,
but the dense earth of flour and rancour,
storeroom hardened with corpses and metals,
doesn't let me peer into the depths
where the interwoven solitude rejects me.

But I'll speak to them,
to mine,
those who one day
fled to my flag,
when purity was a crystal star in its fabric.
But people and wheat were kneaded;
then the earthly head was groomed,
the buried light's filaments were combed,
agony tested the free doors,
destroyed by the wind...