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.