Poem 1

Somewhere deep, like before I wake up
Or when I’m thinking about nothing at all
I see in my mind’s eye and out of my soul’s window
Those who have gone before me

They walk paths of integrity
Wade in streams of joy
Struggle through quagmires of indifference
And come out scarred but strong

They climbed meditative mountains in Tibet
Strolled Hindu streets in Bangalore
Wore phylacteries in Haffa
Danced for the spirits in Khartoum

They bowed heads at tables in Savannah
Knelt before altars in Tegucigalpa
Paid homage at the shrine in Edo
And drank the rain in the middle of the street

I honor them not by claiming monopoly on history
In my one moment – a thread in a field of cotton
But by continuing to weave and wear
The hairshirt that is all of us