Last week drove reckless as I saw
war tanks on a borderline, a shot
on YouTube like a reorder-sign
a shock, I call confusing
smothers me and I want to sleep
There are tanks …
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Last week drove reckless as I saw
war tanks on a borderline, a shot
on YouTube like a reorder-sign
a shock, I call confusing
smothers me and I want to sleep
There are tanks and helicopters
There is Russia’s misled army
- warlords come, incise up crazy
This rashness throws anchor to my dream…
Maybe it’s the last century?
Now? Could it make a difference?
Hearing bullets rain down trees
I look up, calm in my reverie
I catch marching treads slinging mud
In place of antique bullet spray
My flight-goggles blood-smeared
and I can’t see the light of day
Then I’m at a water spring
and wipe my glasses clear before
a sunbeam strikes me round
to see a quiet meadow where
a cozy dwelling can be found, now
I hear a song in sky of prayer
- a Russian song I used to know
Gliding along a stone walkway
I rap three drumbeats on the door
I holler out a blue hello
then enter as a neighbor would
Inside a mother slowly rocks
sings Sleep My Beauty lullaby
her infant baby on her breast
two toddlers playing on the floor
I inquire, Garden-Mother
Just who do you mean to be?
She smiles, for now a throng has gathered
answers, I am Anne Frank’s lost dream.
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