As suddenly as such a war,
steam signals over our coffee cups—
set on white cloth in tremors of shade—
become propitious: sentries begin
to joke in my village, laugh in yours.
Ambassadors toss old writs to the wind.
Peasants bear laundry down to the river.
Trade routes reopen, crowded with wagons.

This article originally appeared in The New Criterion, Volume 15 Number 8, on page 36
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