In Sarajevo, the air seemed immensely blue,
even at night.  Shells no longer channeled
the sky, and children played at hide-and-seek

from dawn to dark among the crosses.  Snow
began to melt in the market.  There were flowers
for sale, staining the tables and pavement

crimson, blood of earth returned to blossom,
martyrs crying out anew in the language
of fragrance, “Peace, peace.”