All humankind is of one Author:
The man who pedals the rickshaw,
the small girl selling roses
as she weaves between cars,
the broad-shouldered woman
with a flower behind her ear.
Along the highway, even the cows
lying on narrow islands of the median
are a piece of the continent,
a part of the main.
So, too, the veiled women
chatting on the red sandstone plaza
of the mosque, the man selling pineapple slices,
the four tired travelers
climbing back into the rickshaw.