How clear are the stars
and how sweet the cool, crisp air
by your piece of peace?
I understand the search
The take-aim at the unknown for the purpose of purpose and peace
Back up to the moment when it slipped from our skin and we continued along, with barely a downward glance
Feel from afar that moment we made the choice
To compromise
To acquiesce
To call our own another’s yes
And be resolved
That unless there’s silk or cinnamon involved
To never slip again
They wish to drink peace
And are connecting the dots
We’d best feed them well
I woke up on my pen and Rock and this is what I’d dreamed:
“Book and Rock and Rock and Book, you walk hand in hand.”