​Before the idol
The human visage is decreased,
Crushed, humiliated
Before the sun-god in the east,

An Aztec tower of skulls,
The charcoal sati,
So too the faiths 
That with sticky amity

Exaggerate forgiveness
Of every sin and crime,
Consigning the man’s spirit
To weakness and grime

Unable to see
That he is powerful and free.
When we take each step
With integrity,

And we fear the toxic wind,
Our will is strong
And we conquer coral islands,
Oblique and oblong.

Awake and tough,
Not interested in favors,
Dispensations,
Hastily contrived waivers,

But principles, pillars,
Not dismayed by a dried-out
Pool, a savage rifle,
We seek the rain beyond drought.

​The natural avenues
Of the synapses
As goodness grows
While time elapses

Lacks the power that seeps
From heart to skin
To give each scrap its name
That is most genuine

So that the name
Comes close to the entity,
So that the light
Shines upon the raw vitality.

And the heart of the father
Will turn to the son
And the son to the father’s
Rough homespun.

​Pride (the kind that expels
A flavor of something not quite…right,
Is filled with an illusion,
Something that explodes when we bite

Down, that we can reach the Divine
Itself, higher than any names,
Before the cosmic eggs
Hatched, waterways and frames,

That itself is a statue,
A molten image that we
Have hidden away, 
A mistaken identity.

How broad our life becomes
When we see that 
There is nothing we can see
Of God, beyond all habitat,

All thought, every idea,
Until we are crowned
With glory adn with joy
Upon the ancient ground.

Is that us, me? Only this
Clears a person like glass,
Through which he sees himself,
Black sky, blue ice crevasse,

He is one spark breathed upon
By a cosmic breath, the source,
Carried down along
The foaming watercourse.