Some days I still feel it,
as if I’m still swaying
on that elephant’s shoulders,
refusing to come down. We are losing
so much – so out of touch
with each other, with all our
non-human kin. I would do it
all again – spend that year with
refugees on the Thai-Cambodian border,
bathing with a bucket of water,
listening to the saddest stories,
believing in the coming glories.
I would do it all again –
go to the very end of the Earth,
to her rooftop, and never stop
telling the truth about Tibet
under Chinese rule – all the abuse
and ridicule, the cruel treatment
the gentlest people in the world
endure. I would do all again –
choose literature as my weapon
against evil and the devil,
though not one written word
can capture the splendor of a bird.
I would choose jazz and the blues
over the daily barrage of late-
breaking bad news. I would
treat holiness with the utmost
seriousness, and ascend with larks
and swifts as if never again
to descend to the ground.
I’d let the sound of their high-
pitched screaming lift me up
above the troposphere till I
entered into their high ring
of stratosphere. I would do it
all again – yield to the heart-
breaking beauty of forest and field,
receiving all their gifts as I busy
myself with perceiving and praising
all the days of my brief fleeting life,
never fearing, never giving up the fight.