Los Sobrevivientes

We are blind to see
tired of so much walking
we are tired of running
in the city.

We will never have roots
we will never have a home
and yet, you see,
we are from here.

We vibrate like the bells
like churches approaching from the south
like black dresses wanting to undress.
I have always carried you
under my blue scarf
through the streets like Christ to the cross.