I was hoping for a day when peace might carry

I was hoping for a day when peace might carry
In the tortured daylight
A browned crust of bread might ignite and give Christ’s blood
And the blood balloons to break water over the humus shade
Of the ubiquitous rocks, so many tombs.
And the bodies hiding
They don’t want to die
In the tortured daylight, without ubiquity.

Anatol Cordua © 2017