Hearts

They thump along

Within our breasts,

Moving to the same

Rhythm, whether 

pope or prostitute,

Teacher or terrorist,

Lamb or lion.

The blood courses in us.

We are the blood and

The blood is in us,

No different from

one to the next.

The same valves, 

Chambers, and arteries that

Clog with our excesses are

Capable of such brightness:

Tears and joy bunch up

Inside these walls.

All beings arise from the heart.

The place of sadness and hope, 

Soul's winter and summer —

From the salmon struggling upstream

To the Peruvian peasant
On the mountainside,

We all exact a beat

That illuminates the world.