Bus of marigolds.
Caravan of peace.
Thousands of families divided
Who is desperate to cross over.
Who must see his father’s grave.
And painted right across the bus,
I broke the swords and made of them sickles,
from one of their poets, who
—you’ve heard this before, I’m sure—
is also one of our poets.
The Image archive is supported in part by an award from the National Endowment for the Arts.