Here is the truce
between us,
a little truce
that may not make the night
but let us keep it
like you keep a flame
alive with cupped hands
when the wind is blowing
let us nurture it
like a baby bird
that we suspect will not make it.
It is almost sweet
how we treat one another
when we know
it will not last,
let us survey the rubble
in the momentary
humanitarian pause
let us dig a little
in the devastation
and look for a hand waving out,
another reaching in.