A Dreamer

In my dream,

where flight is possible,

I can hover in the night sky

and look down upon

the world,

green and turning.

 

From this height

there are no borderlines,

no bridges

or boundaries;

just one

roiling mass of life

and light

in a never-ending darkness.

 

And from here

I see a spark

lighting a patch of desert

below.

One more spark,

then another,

until the flicker is a constant,

matching my pulse.

 

I shed a tear

for the painful reality

bleeding into my fiction:

 

in my dream,

where flight is possible,

I still cannot fathom

or imagine

peace.

Photo of Gaza from outer space, by Alexander Gerst.