Field of blue lights,
Cirrus, nimbus,
anvil and dark
 
A minefield map of maybes,
goodbyes
 
The jet climbs nose up
in arrogant assumption
 
while the public walking towards borders
become traffic
jammed into corners
jammed onto muddy fields
jammed
 
and in the frame of the railway bed
crossing the camp
two lie on jagged gravel
pulling the corners
of wool blankets together
so no more wind
no more
can get in
 
and in the center of thin tents
on stony ground
an open flap
frames two kissing,
their static 
the only electricity
left to touch
 
Their faces together they scale
the sheer tips of each stone's pointed
edge on hips
on knees on necks on feet on
each footprint
and fragment of dreams
they try together to  trap
 
And as the bundles are gathered,
backs unbent,
 we warn,
don't risk your hope
under wires, jackboots, guns,
you will lose what you have
 
but the hum grows,
and the barbed wire, tangled,
catches the sun
 
The guards shift
from foot to booted foot,
their weapon hands tighten
 
and maybe one young man
in the forward push
hears the crack,
sees the tear gas bloom
 
and the children,
eyes stinging,
are anointed
 
Spent shells
in a row like sculpture,
a line of  stenographic words
in a tongue we cannot hear
 
We wake up in a time zone far away,
We send doctors and boxes and trucks
Some of us go to help because
it is not something we can't
 
It can't we can't it can't be
but all we can do is pass out
shirts and oranges
 
while others try to protect
the commonplace
saying
the carriers of the inconceivable
cannot come here
 
And I picture a Syrian girl's dark curls,
small wrists reaching
from her unraveling sweater
to hold her father's hand
 
and in his eyes-
I would use words like
steadfast, grateful, frustrated, strong,
 
though his eyes are tight against those scenes
he wants to wash from his daughter's eyes
 
But what do I know of him,
what do I know