The clamor of dusty children
changes in the throats of flutes.
For the children in narrow alleys, a gun
is two fingers put together,
and death
is closing of eyelids and rolling around in dirt.
Tomorrow
imaginary guns shall be left and forgotten
on the decks of paper boats,
and the camouflage costumes, once too large for the world’s children
shall fit.

Translation by Sholeh Wolpé