Ocean Vuong - Aubade with Burning City lyrics

South Vietnam, April 29, 1975: Armed Forces Radio played Irving Berlin's “White Christmas” as a code to begin Operation Frequent Wind, the ultimate evacuation of American civilians and Vietnamese refugees by helicopter during the fall of Saigon. Milkflower petals on the street like pieces of a girl's dress. May your days be merry and bright ... He fills a teacup with champagne, brings it to her lips. Open, he says. She opens. Outside, a soldier spits out his cigarette as footsteps fill the square like stones fallen from the sky. May all your Christmases be white as the traffic guard unstraps his holster. His hand running the hem of  her white dress. His black eyes. Her black hair. A single candle. Their shadows: two wicks. A military truck speeds through the intersection, the sound of children shrieking inside. A bicycle hurled through a store window. When the dust rises, a black dog lies in the road, panting. Its hind legs crushed into the shine of a white Christmas. On the nightstand, a sprig of magnolia expands like a secret heard for the first time. The treetops glisten and children listen , the chief of police facedown in a pool of Coca-Cola. A palm-sized photo of his father soaking beside his left ear. The song moving through the city like a widow. A white ...    A white ...    I'm dreaming of a curtain of snow falling from her shoulders. Snow crackling against the window. Snow shredded with gunfire. Red sky. Snow on the tanks rolling over the city walls. A helicopter lifting the living just out of reach. The city so white it is ready for ink. The radio saying run run run. Milkflower petals on a black dog like pieces of a girl's dress. May your days be merry and bright. She is saying something neither of them can hear. The hotel rocks beneath them. The bed a field of ice cracking. Don't worry, he says, as the first bomb brightens their faces, my brothers have won the war and tomorrow ...     The lights go out. I'm dreaming. I'm dreaming ... to hear sleigh bells in the snow ...     In the square below: a nun, on fire, runs silently toward her god — Open, he says. She opens.