CASCADE MOUNTAINS, 3:30 a.m. (Postcard Poetry)

Peace arrived in Portland today, landing silently on stocking feet, cocooning itself inside worn, woolen wings.

The world is a dangerous gyroscope of misunderstanding and fear.

So once a year, for a blink of fifteen minutes, Peace escapes its impossible task and closes its all-seeing eyes in a much-needed nap.

Peace slept unexpectedly in Port

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