GIVING1

I love giving blood.
Sometimes I walk in
Off the street
When no one has even asked
And roll up my sleeve.

I love lying on the table
Watching my blood flow
Through the scarlet tube
To fill the little bag
That bears no address.

I love the mystery
Of its destination.
It runs as easily
To child or woman or man,

Black or white,
Californian or Asian,
Methodist, Mormon,
Moslem or Jew.

Rain does too.
Rivers do.
I think God does.
We do not.

Our suspicious egos clot
On the journey
From "Us" to "Them."

So I give blood
To practice flowing,
Never knowing
Where it's going.
And glad.