Not the peace of a cease-fire Not even the vision of the wolf and the lamb But rather As in the heart when the excitement is over And you can talk only about a great weariness I know that I know how to kill That makes me an adult And my son plays with a toy gun that knows How to open and close its eyes and say Mama A peace Without the big noise of beating swords into ploughshares Without words, without The thud of the heavy rubber stamp: Let it be Light, floating, like lazy white foam A little rest for the wounds– Who speaks of healing? (And the howl of the orphans is passed from one generation) (To the next, as in a relay race) (The baton never falls) Let it come Like wildflowers Suddenly, because the field Must have it, wildpeace