Day 356

What falls from the sky
is a child, and another child.
You saw them playing
with friends, with a soccer ball,
a stray dog.  Now children, ball,
dog are indistinguishable, have become
dust and smoke and memory.  What
if the crater the bomb made
could become a lake
suddenly filled with fresh,
clear water? What if you — child
who witnessed your friends
dissolve into a torrent of fire —
could summon them, call
their names, watch as they stood
reconstituted, whole — boy,
boy, dog — and began to move
toward you to a gleaming place
where all of you could drink and be sated?