If I conjure up an idea of peace,
It is of silence in a speaking world,
It is of tranquil skies and gentle sun,
It is of solitude, perhaps a friend
I love; and childhood is a favourite theme.
Of afternoon, on river bank to cast
A tingling line; or watch while prone the sky;
A harmless insect waving from a blade
Of grass; such declensions of pure self-
Indulgence; brimming, never-breaking peace.
But such kind peace must end I fear, alas,
As heaving up I overturn the guise:
A maze of tracks and signals jolts my mind.
(O peace of Christ,
You are here in the summoning.
Whatever the circumstance,
You are here in the summoning.)