The First Sun Thief+for Daniel+To die or to be killed. What’s the difference, if any at all?+Tonight as you stirred in your blue striped pajamas,+as mum and everyone else in the world slept,+the red robin outside my window wept for her baby.+The hot demands of the morning now in my hands—+for once I understood a cry I could not return.+ I stole something I do not know how to return.+I could not bear to see it kill you, my little brother and all.+Do not awaken now, the police come to arrest my hands.+Dream of flight and never do dare land in your pajamas,+let its good warmth replace my love for you, my baby.+Blackened by a place where water has never slept,+my premeditated hands burned, and still you slept.+ If to the selfish springs of Eden I do not return,+wash the soil clean until you see green, for you, my baby,+will succumb to a rottened planet, alabaster skin and gall.+Boil every walnut tree in your own blood—strip your pajamas+if you must—and stain their black hulls on your hands.+ When you follow the great leopards to Africa, I am hand+in hand with you. Since I have left I have not slept,+so do not be afraid now. Put on your sweet striped pajamas,+run fast to catch the leopards, the mother will return+once she understands you to be a friend to all,+your black fingers hold the spots you paint on her baby.+I wanted you in a world you can grow up in, my baby,+ so with my long lithe arms and loving hands,+I stole the big yellow sun, radiation and all,+and left. But I kissed your forehead as you still slept,+and I promised you, my sweet little brother, my return.+But only once it is safe for you, and your blue striped pajamas.+
