In those years
he raised
enormous armies.
He left his silken tents, the cover
of his cities,
to become the great god of change.

rolled over the marble cities,
walls, covered
markets and houses.
The armies

of oblivion disarmed
the warriors. They changed
places with the dead-silt covered
their eyes. “One night is as a thousand years
in the eyes of god.”

is a shining city
on a hill. There the armies
feed and grow fat. Far below the people raise
corn and wheat. They make clothes, tools, weapons and statues. Unchanging

their small lives.
And what of the ruler of cities?
What do the years
bring him? His army
impales him in a public square. They exchange
him for his brother. His praise

will be buried, his name erased.
We the people will change
our course, uncover
our lost cities,
lose them again. Armed
in oblivion, our years

sift through squares, palaces, temples and graves. Oh city
of small changes. Disarmed, nerveless, we steal
through history. Marble torsos. Whitened years.