Until the Fight Is Done

My confusion comes from too much doing. During the news eating cheese and crackers, drinking wine, thinking the world needs me. Or the falling leaves, the days shorter but so much brighter. How the cloud cover of the canopy has lifted to reveal maybe God. The longest continuous democracy may end in another theocracy. A bunch of voodooists with their hocus pocus blessings and understandings. Bombs and poison. Grief. Chiseled, tearless face. Chants gregorian. Her sad, clear, soulful missives from the city. Unbelievable acorn crop this year! Skate on them like marbles. Last year was a maple year. The ash crop significant, too. But not the cherries. Or a single pear. Blackberries held back too. Sure the towers were a violation, but they came to hold community. One stands not apart or alone but an individual within his or her platoon. Committed to the mission and survival of the platoon. Fedex leaves a package. There is or is no anthrax in it. It is our disappointment as Americans that the world cannot be trusted. Yes, New York is the enemy and brother of Kabul. How does one reconcile those differing communities and be a non- violent human? With words. Wendell Berry's words. And service such as the secretaries of state give, leaving when one's time and work is done. Staying in the diatonic. Agreeing first on rules of engagement. Then engaging. Not stopping the fight or thought or song until the fight is done.