I dreamt that Jessica was alive again

or at least

in the form

that I think of her now.

An angel

dressed all in black

weeping

black tears

that trail her face like mascara

dripping

into the hollowness of a bottomless abyss.

I can see her pointing

at the dead little boys

that she takes hold of;

her hands

wrapped around the bodies

of those who have been broken.

I remember how she was against the war,

I remember that she was afraid to say it.

I opened my eyes

and found her standing

in the corner of my bedroom

by the window

herself

as she was

holding the hand

of the girl that she had been once.

I wept

to be frightened at such an outcome

but it was

as always

all just a dream.