in response to My highest values

Spring arrived, I couldn't believe
the whole country:
a single broken heart
a fissure wedged open by fear.

Now they are more like wordless newspapers
than the prayers once belted through a megaphone.
Ink all smeared and dried that way,
faces like a watercolor crowd.

All the greats' steam engines lost
in the smoke of their sons,
--(the house of the found chimneys,
--that light in the end chair)
in all the earth and the rising contention;
once sweet and smoldered.
Now blistering.
Now cracked open.

But you did not leave Me limping
with the knowledge of
that Chasm of Doubt
or that the Evil of Ill Purpose
was what filled the gaping whole
where some Great Plan once was.
No.

Our fingertips kept meeting
a resounding possibility of change
pulsing under the streets of snow.

If We held Our Selves higher,
tethered only by the off-chance of trade
with those who lie on the corners below
(those with their bottomless palms, ever thrust out to Us)...

if We took the chance to build over
the hurt, the aimless, the Marlboro Politicians,
the Global Warming,
the Child Who Wants The Jesus inside
her empty mind,
those big buildings of The Terrorist America
smoking with fear,
every sick woman in My family
and her therapist too,

We would see the
What Is
resting like It didn't know why
It was forgotten.