I Dream of Tom Fox

I dream of Tom Fox.
In the carbon sweat of my night.
I dream of Tom Fox
phrasing words
he would goodbye to his daughter
rail thin with compassionate weariness
behind bars called 'righteous.'
I dream of Tom Fox,
the faces streaked with explosion dirt & fear
he encountered in Iraq & the
thoughts that burned behind intense stares. Tears,
bloodshed, & the night's liquid quench all sloshed
in with shaking & resilience.
I dream of Tom Fox,
how he climbed into people's eyes
to help them knock down barriers,
opening garden gates where people can look
at each other.
How does a state
enact misery without the will of its people
using the young men again?
Light shifts & the deathlengths
ask to transform into a flowering zone
can take the burned wreckage & seed hope
where bread reaches all mouths, youthful hands grip elder hands,
& man does unto man as He would be done.
I dream of Tom Fox
who said, "Too few are willing to die for peace."
And I try to make the hearth in my chest warm
a brother lost in the distance we create
who would have us love God quite another way.