Sometimes I wonder,
when our heads are wrapped in news of catastrophe,
are we shifting any karma with our minds?
are we doing any good?
eventually, might our being informed
heal an injured man, from our bombs,
an injured child, from our bullets,
the women holding the injured
and the dead?
Their voices splinter themselves,
we hear them, but they are extreme and strange.
I heard too, I’m so informed…
Every day we fund genocide with our earnings
and our spendings,
and we begrudge ourselves peace.
Our guilt and anger are right.
But remember to live awhile
with the countless lives in our gardens,
where there is no religion,
no fumbling, lethal machinery of empires.
Remember, we give of ourselves unevenly,
like breath from a wave
on a windy ocean.
We need our gardens.
There, we will fill our muscles with heart blood
that will stir and stir us:
to true and beautiful action.