I Dream of War

Correspondent Dexter Filkins


I Dream of War


I dream of war. I dream of poets being
poets along a riverbank in a war.
There are no books, no prizes,

and they pack food in boxes: cereal,
rice, dried fruit, bread, and beans,
each in a plastic bag,

for they must row across the river
to gather. They must leave their parapets
of three stone walls open to the land

away from water, and open to the sky.
They are dreamless in the dream
and wake to row every day. When they bend

to fill their boxes or sweep bare ground,
they are faceless, and it is only hands
and arms that row, only hands

that open palms up to read the air.
If you are one of them and stay behind,
you see the broad, brown river

and a face, finally, across the water,
too small even for a child, and there
is time before you hear the sound

of bloodless hands, a clap
that starts the song.

James Cervantes 2003

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