Gaza Dawn

a child opens his eyes,

thinks he is looking at

a page

from his grandfather's book

of Picasso prints

body parts

out of alignment,

primary colour

red

a low moan seeps

from underground;

millenia of voices

chant prayers

for the dead

along a path,

a line of pulsing hearts

as far as the eye

can see:

a procession of ghosts,

beginning again

to stumble

from one continent

to another,

falling,

rising,

drowning.

one breath short

of a promised land

suffer the children

sparrow-sized

in their wake