Dave Bonta's "Peace time" sets two kinds of time side by side. In the first, a whole year disappears into "the war with sand," a strange phrase that suggests a struggle against something endless and shapeless, where nothing is ever won. Sand slips through fingers and fills every gap, so the image feels like pointless, wearing effort. The poem doesn't say whose war this is, so it could be literal, figurative, or both.
Then the speaker turns to memory. "We remember one another" feels tender and a little surprised, as though the people had nearly forgotten each other. The things they recall are small and ordinary: playing house, walking in fields, eating cheese-cake. The last line, "an hour's ear," is odd and open to interpretation. It might mean an hour of being listened to, which would make peace a matter of attention and company. The mood is quiet, wistful, and gently hopeful, with peace found in brief, domestic moments.