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Poetry

Peace Keeping

Peace Keeping   

My garden has been my refuge,
but I’ve been away too long.

One evening I found my garden
shot through in crimson, gold, and wildfire.

As the sun pressed lower
I drew water for the birds.

Kneeling under red clumps of currants
I plucked greedy weeds and scattered

fists of mulch over sleeping roots.
Now in shadow I chopped tangled

thorns and nettle, avoiding their fire.
I took up my spade and opened a trench

to guard the perimeter from crabgrass.
Come nightfall I set down my tools,

and in the cool darkness
I lay silent and still
beneath the moon’s soft blanket.