Peace
Adam Marston

You find her in a lake. She is trapped in a ripple.

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You carry her body from the lake. You bury it like a seed in a hollow tree. Now it is a gravetree. You hope it will die for months. But it grows.

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You enter the hollowest tree by the lake. Its bark repeats her face over and over. Even here she is here. You realize the worst: even this could be home.

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You turn yourself in. At night you dream of pigeons in a grave cooingsoul

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You're alone on a lake at night. Here is her grave: a dead hollow tree. A flock of pigeons live there. At dawn it sounds like a tree flapping its wings.

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