if there should be saints in disguise,
wandering like subtle tourists
through the medina of my mind,
wandering, with nothing else in mind
but the preservation of their anonymity,
then let you be one of those saints
stopping to barter for a jeweled rug
with a black bearded vendor
in a faded shalwar kameez.
let you be my best image of kabul, afghanistan
somewhere that amerika is supposed to hate,
which only makes me love that place even more.
let you be a blessed peacemaker
crowned with the prismatic aura of rainbows;
let your impassioned fantasies ambush
those calloused legacies of gore,
extinguish, in a phalanx of breath,
the entire history of mortal combat.
if there should be saints revealed,
cluttering like troops of penguins
across a sturdy palette of ice,
cluttering, as a needed safety device
with nothing else in mind
but the preservation of their young,
then let you be one of those saints
sharing that single drop
of very long-stored liquid
with the tentative mouth of your son-
embracing the near futility of infancy.
oh, let you be a saint
who can make fear take cover
amidst a wider, well-done world
bombarded with possibility.
