poetry and peace share
the blank page
worry hovering over both
fret and misconception
needling
what can one writer do?
then in the silence
of early morning
vapours rise from soft edges:
the many issues pushed aside
for budding branches
each a heart forward
for robin song
the smell of growing things
hopping over themselves to get born
in ones and twos and lots
hope
however faint
rising up from the ashes
into ink.