…. should we survive the rending
comes the circle,
mill for threshing, and a tree, and a garden, and love's delight
is but a family come full circle.
Having survived the paradox of love
we eat the bread of our own hands
without humility but with praise
for the man, our father, who set the feast before us.
That poetry might survive the paradox of love,
the world's rending,
is not this poet's dreaming but her service
to a circle, seeing to be a mill for threshing
and shaking the laurel tree.
That poetry might grow into a garden
is love's delight, is the poet's life,
in a family come full circle.
Peace offering; the bread of our own hands
and not a dream, not for ourselves,
but for each other.