We ran from the back door,
!50!laughing, set little fires
!100!all over the city, small
ignitions, watched them burn.
!50!Told me he worked best
!100!at night, slept all day. Held
lightning in his hands, threw
!50!bolts. Told me There must be
!100!a place for us in this
world. We’ll find it and build
!50!a wall around it. Made music,
!100!sang like a bird or a stone
dropped in a well. Filled
!50!my mouth with fig blossoms,
!100!coated my throat with ash.
Field I planted with spring
!50!melons, field which got no
!100!rain, empty bowl. Even now
I toss with so many
!50!dreams of the guns he kept
!100!so clean, oiled. I think
What if each bullet were
!50!an olive pit? I think What if
!100! his hands were doves?