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


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


Photo of Gaza from outer space, by Alexander Gerst.