For Aylan Kudri
He dreamed of a warm bed, each night the pads of feet were soft on the walk up to bed
a fresh pillow that quilted his head for each new dream, that infinitely evolved in his mind
He dreamed of the arms that would cover him when sinking into a lullaby, his eyes closed
his mother’s hands closed his ears from the deafening waves that pounded the boat.
He dreamed of things that fell in the night rattled around in his head, catching memories
playing under street lamps, following the pigeons cooing under a Damascus moon
He dreamed of a new home, a place to breathe far from the tides of injustice that swept him
the sorrow that fill him, the hunger that brought him, to these unforgiving shores.