The Tide

Silver bodies float on the surface

driftwood- reflecting sun.

Soldiers fish with hand grenades

as shadow birds cluster

flying on white sands under water.

I stand on the feet of my shadow

arms outstretched – resting on a still sea,

bearing no weapons,

the tide is undecided.

Identity disks hang from my neck

tangled up with miraculous medal,

scapula and crucifix.

I was the peacekeeper.

The tide is turning.