Dear opponent,

[Poetic Peter]

.
let's make pearls
instead of quarrels?

Place a grain of sand inside me,
bide a while—idle wild
while my nature smoothes the grit
until it turns a pearl, or pit.

I surrender—see your pearl?
This gift for you—its glow is amber
in the firelight on the beach,
all the nights the embers reach—

for butter, salt, a bit of bread;
my life was that, and this is said
with no regrets, except that now
I am devoured,

and so, propose—

we dance on in the moontime pale,
strumming pearls of words on strings,
forgetting knots and without clasps.

See our words float to the sky?

So many moons are human sighs


.