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Truce, by Britta Benson


Cinnamon sweeps in again,

almost unnoticed, on a rainy

day in May. A life well lived

in swirls. The whirlwinds of

lost journeys seep into my

hungry soul. All yours, for now,

all mine, forever. This truth

be told, be gentle in your rage

and cancel fate. We curl up

on our window sills, where air

smells of velvet and spices.

A glimmer of hope that will

colonize our heathen hearts

with stillness, grace and joy.

Britta Benson


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