There was a moment in sun-dappled woods
when I felt held by the peace that blooms
in the lungs, then spreads to limbs, to mind,
the peace that comes when I turn toward
the throbbing ache of hate and war
and don’t pretend pain isn’t here
and don’t deny beauty, either.
Amidst the peace of the quiet woods,
I wanted more, more peace
that spreads from woods to breath.
More peace, as if peace could be shared
like cake or bread or shelter or song.
I wanted to share it everywhere,
more peace that makes the mind a glade
with gentle light and ample shade.
How could I not want peace to spread
to war-torn homes in war-torn lands,
to war-torn hearts and war-torn hands.
So deep the peace of the sun-dappled woods.
And still I wish for more.