If I must die,
you must live
to tell my story
to sell my things
to buy a piece of cloth and some strings,
(make it white with a long tail) so that a child, somewhere in Gaza while looking heaven in the eye awaiting his dad who left in a blaze-and bid no one farewell not even to his flesh not even to himself–
sees the kite, my kite you made, flying up above
and thinks for a moment an angel is there bringing back love
If I must die let it bring hope let it be a tale
The Pale Notebook 