From where
does peace arise?
Does it ascend from victory drums,
like conquest smoke
of wars won
by fractions of mankind?
Or is peace
like the moon,
ready to lift itself onto the summit
of man’s imagination and hope
once the fire of the sky has waned
and youth has run its course?
Is peace the percussion of the heart
or the stillness of the night?
If so—why, then, does it seem to find me
between beat and silence?