PEACE

I flew with the geese this morning
in the still of the dew laden air,
the sky a lavender washed canvas
ready for whatever the day will bring.
We flew in long strings bending into v's
and as the geese chattered and honked
to one another I thought how nice it would be
not to own any objects under this sky
but to be owned by the earth Herself . . .
to have the earth move under my wings
and to be free to be whatever I am . . .
to fly beneath the moon
and over the trees, the cities and oceans . . .

and I remembered that people are
treasures, wrapped up . . .
like nesting dolls,
which I would pull apart until
I reached the last little one, so tiny and yet . . .
I was always disappointed
because in my heart I knew that there was more
- there just had to be more inside -
and that there was no end
to the surprises inside the person . . .
there was always more. . .

and the sun pushed light into the atmosphere
while the clouds came down to cover the rawness of the naked sky and
the call of the geese proceeded North . . .
while spread out in the city
was the sound of people busy at life
giving and getting the things that move them,
while deep in their hearts,
beneath the smallest of the last doll
is a tiny hollow called Peace
which calls its name
every now and then. . .

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