Sing, choirs of angels, sing in exultation,
sing all the residents on all floors of the accountancy firm,
sing junkies, sing outcasts, sing church choirs who can’t carry a tune,
sing lovers of misery and hopeless pedants of time.
Sing for the holy child, and students of life with calloused hands
from the fishing nets, sing hosanna for the thief on the left,
and the right one, too while you’re at it.
Ring out praises for Muhammad Ali and St. Pete,
sing for Mary, unrepentant carrier of God.
Let the earth shake with fervent witness
to the supernova that burns in the chest of woman,
that roils in the breast of man.
Sing and behold: there is a call, interwoven
into the atom’s hurly burly, heard in the friction
by the tramline wires, there is a call jutting out
with every lap of the wave again the shore,
and there is a response, one that we bear,
one that we bare, so sing it out now.