I don’t care if you pray to Jesus,
sit in meditation before Quan-Yin,
dance a wild spinning ecstasy around
the still center of your Sheik.

I don’t care if you wear a pentacle
or hold up the latest scientific journal,
keep every kosher law
or run naked in the dirty and crowded streets.

I don’t care if you wave a fan over a sacred book,
bow five times a day to Mecca
show up to sing every Wednesday with the choir,
or chant from the Lotus Sutra.

Show me that you have something that,
when everything is taken from you,
when everyone has left you,
when even the sun pales and the oceans run
black and sickly,
the food is gone and the body stringy as rope,
drawing that last, terrible perfect breath,
you will still be able to say,
Yes.

KBN