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:

“Feluja! Ramadi!”

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.


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