I Would Show You

I would show you
how the wind
measures each mile of dust

sweeps across the edges
pierced by missiles
caressing the wounded and the dead

I would show you
how to fold flags
as the wind billows the fabric

into the martyrs quarters, West Bank,
carries the scent of krass cooking in Gaza,
the repetitive moaning of Salaat-ul Janaazah

I would show you
how to shelter
from the haboob

pierces the weeping iron dome,
teases at the edges of torn garments,
the echo of Rachel, weeping in Ramah

I would show you
children in the desert,
the haboob across the ocean

blows across the camps,
through the cacti tines,
whips sweat from the brows of smugglers

I would show you
the human gyre
south to north, and back again

and there is no sheltering place,
no shield, no break,
as we whip to dust, our garments torn,
leaning into this wind,
to fall into our resting place
upon its release



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