Barefoot Pilgrimage

Every morning while still in my soft dreamworld
before the reality of nuclear explosions and villages swept away
and bodies tangled and mangled by guns and bombs

I take a barefoot pilgrimage
to pay homage

to my garden.

white flower in a dark world
to the miracle of color and form
and scent and
unselfconscious beauty

to the miracle of the power
to declare
tragedy and war and cruelty
obsolete
for one long breath
one short moment.


Somewhere in a refugee camp,
a flower pushes through the mud and tin and cardboard

a banner,
calling us to the isolated moment.

a miniature joy
calling us to remember a better future.

a miniscule message
empowering us to overcome despair
and
move once more into action.

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