I see you sassy, saucy
even haughty
with the Roman soldiers
because virtue must turn to pride
in the winepress
of oppression.
I see you at the protest
in the forest
chained to old-growth crosses
the company wants cut down
I see you gifted, fists lifted
shot in the head
for going to school
under Taliban rule.
I see you wild & mild
and everything in between
according to the need
clever and lover
of truth and fun
and dancing
and soul-sounding
prayer when the music
turns to silence
in the winepress of existence.
I see you beautiful, bold,
embodied in colors
and sandals that laugh
out loud with living
saying yes and no
as the Spirit shows
you which side to call
in the toss of coins
that belong to Caesar.
I see you
and keep looking
for the pictures
they took of me
at the wall
beside you.