And we were all Americans in 1492,
Americans, unborn, unburied.
We were breezes
pushing the ships on.
We were the Nina, the Pinta, the Santa Maria
and shipwrecks and vacant maps;
blank faces of the navigators;
faith in a faithless wave.
Land Ho!
The queens and kings lay down their tired old world wars
for wars of American blood.
We were waiting.
Unborn. Unburied.
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