You turn the history into dunes,
letting archaeologists find your shadows,
on the veins on the canopic jars,
you turn the earth into beautiful mountains,
humans of all colors,
a variety of languages,
narrating their homelands,
you turn the wounds of hatred into scars,
letting the wind of the four seasons,
smooth them away.
turning everything visible into invisible,
everything unseeable into seeable,
along the trail,
digging up the memories of yesterday.