Valentine for Palestine, #2

What could red velvet boxes
bows and crinkly cellophane
mean to you, Palestine
now that the saturation bombing phase
has become the starvation and depravation phase.

And hearts?
They are becoming like an endangered species,
the word "love" a rebel 
dodging the algorithms of commerce
efficiency, sheen and detachment.

Maybe I should write "forgive us"
on a tiny scroll, roll it up 
and tie it around the leg of a dove
or sparrow, any winged courage
flying in behind the food drops.

Maybe it will land somewhere--
the crumpled parapet of an exploded building,
a window ledge in an overcrowded hospital,
atop a tent where a widow tends her one remaining child--
    and sing.