I Wonder

I wonder:

Is he asleep? Or lost in a dream stitched by memory and fear?
Is it peace he sees, or is it the kind of nightmare that follows you into the morning — like mine from last night?

And that bird —
Is it real?
Or something he summoned out of longing, or grief, or some secret place in his soul that refuses to die?

Where is he, truly?
A corner of the world forgotten by war?
Or the ruins of a childhood he’s trying to hide in?

Where did everyone go?

Why is he alone?

Is he alright?

I wonder. I wondered. I wonder.