I was walking in a strange land
where the sky meets a field of olive trees
leaves drifting in the cool wind
carrying faces of boys, young Marines
dreaming of home in their easy sleep
I waved at them, looked up at the moon
I heard a branch shaking, jacaranda flowers
tumbling down, then I heard a bird call almost human:
I stood still could not remember those places.
Oh, yes, I got the story. I remember the departure
of the boys to Iraq.
The bird twittered on and on: those boys march
through continents and olive fields as dutiful sons
sent by parents signing wars in a room that thunders
through America for the Lord sake and country.
I have the audacity of a dreamer to dream of peace.