I wonder at the window piercing fog while lifting
chocolate-colored coffee to thin pink lips chapped with age,
hoping that the One who made the polished marble will hear my fervent
prayer. He would see God face to face, the Mahatma Gandhi,
wrote; I would climb the gilt-edged cloud above the painted
autumn trees to appeal to the Divine: Ignite the conscience of
humanity! Moderate free will! Put space between war’s precipice
and innocent humanity as it dangles on a line. As we back away
enlarge our eyes to perceive the Spark you placed inside.
May karma serve me well should God call in mystic night as
I levitate from weathered desk past those who dwell above,
Permeating architecture to even breathe within the cosmos
till imagination passes me through portals beyond who and what I am.
Cleaved heart exudes compassion. Ego and nostalgia fade. Memory
dissolves. God shapes me as if clay. I surf within a light shaft
creasing cobalt skies as I describe an arc to land at last among
the sparrows, yes, there I’ll cast my lot as merely one among them,
God’s avatar in common form beneath a second waking person
staring through another frosted pane.

A vicious act of vengeance may convince you you’re a man but
as you lie awake at night, you’ll hear the victims’ frightful cries.
Dispel gloating and expose how weak you were to prey upon
the innocence that fate has cast between two fighting sides.
That nations need their enemies I grasp but can’t abide.
The compassion of our character could confer the moral clarity
that waging war bestows. If we lavished sums to feed and house
the poor instead of spreading lethal force would we not at last
secure democracy at home and stability abroad?
The “real world” ethos of defense contractors and diplomats
cheats “on the ground” majorities at risk from others’ lethal toys.
The distorted priorities of governments that expend vast
sums to kill but call a living wage too costly compound peaceful
struggles to survive.