I feel the shaking of her hands

As she remembers the horrors of “home”

I taste the tears running into his mouth

as he speaks of his daughter, lost forever
in a moment

I hear the rising whine of sirens in their ears

As they are told they must leave in the
morning, early.

I smell the smoke, still in his throat
and his village

as he limps into the dirty ocean of tents, vanishing.

I see the glance they share, pained and silent

as they recall the infinity of waiting
and hoping and suffering.

And I know that we must untiringly work

Until they can lift their faces to the world
and feel its warmth.