There is a Peace

Incomplete and perpetually restless I press on
for a morsel of the being of being,
that lives
that breaths
and moves outside
and within,
these footstep soaked streets
this foreign territory
this familiarity
and in these Dionysian entrails,
spilled onto the table,
between raw fish
and foamed beer,
and between syllables
of a conversation
I am all to desperate to have;

There is a peace.

There is a peace.

There
is
a
peace,

and it speaks.