The people pounded their leather hearts and cried
for truth, so the angel blew her trumpet and declared
The number of matchless treasurable lives is infinite           


you can’t see them with eyes of comparison
or smell what’s marked with the scent of “mine”
or live those lives without laying down your own


the people shouted Yada-yada-yada! and returned
to their occupations, and grasped their change
purses with firmer hands and narrowed eyes.