During the War

I was one of those who sees something cross the moon
and is never again the same person.
I was one of those who fought for an envelope, for a stamp.
I was one who felt the pain of the potted plant
and the loneliness of the tree.

It was all in my mind. It was an idea I had!
Was it such a bad idea?
Did it hurt anyone? Did it even delay for a minute
a father thousands of miles from me
fleeing a tank from my own beloved country?

Did it hasten the deaths by bombing?
Did it quicken the suffering of the homeless?

Certainly not. Absolutely, unequivocally, the answer is No.
My love for the tree did not interfere
with one decision of a committee, one staff meeting.
My joining forces with the mysterious
did not blot a single marching order, nor break a rifle.

The world went on without me. To its mind,
I was no part of it, but to my mind I was too much a part.
I put it all down on paper but in code.
Even at night, I watched the skies like a spy
for the intersection of a planet and the future.