My soul cries out:
heal the sickness.
Give me the spirits
of the dove and the serpent.

I know you ask for sacrifice,
sacrifice for the truth:
that truth which is
greater than suffering.

Every act of truth-telling
is a little death, and a rebirth.
May I die so often that I become
a wandering ghost.

Sophie was beheaded
for giving out leaflets;
Jesus was murdered
for disrupting the temple and society.

The truth is always unpopular,
almost as unpopular
as the best ways
of responding to it.

Lord, give me the strength
to love the jewel in the pain.
Give me the eyes to see my cross
as an adventure.

I weep over the city,
for I know it will be destroyed.
There are two choices before me now:
complicity or rebellion.

We've all learned how to see
from the masters of mankind.
We're overflowing with visions of
Louis Vuitton and Target,
Apple and Chevron,
going viral, gaining clout,
a car, a house, and a good career.

Glory be, hallelujah! We're all
rational economic men.
The only gods one needs to believe in anymore
are the god of the dollar
and the god of war.

But when I go for a walk
and see a flower,
the colors bleed at the edges.
Kingdoms of ants look more magnificent
than any city.

When I bow before a leaf, it tells me:
"There's no solid ground to anything—
why fixate on the material?
This hinterland of complexity
goes all the way down."