I can’t believe in a war
on the other side of these mountains
In the holy land
Out of sight, out of earshot.
I can’t place my hand on your wound
and feel the marks of the bullet and the spear.
I can’t feel the weight of your grief
on my chest when
your mom breathes her last.
I can’t melt or burn when
your unidentified heart
explodes with sorrow
or shrinks with fear.
Stone cold hands, bone white flesh
eyes lolling upwards, this night-
in my dreams, I saw you staring
at the vultures circling above you.
No wonder why I am sleepless these days.