Like convicts circling a razored yard,
let my fingers, mind, soul, and lips
walk the chotki’s knotted path
so that exercised and shackled
my mind may find my heart
and in that dark, blind at last
to the shimmering, world-sweet lies,
I might hear the whispering One
drawing near to offer me his sleeve.
That thus made blind, I might see.
That thus confined, I might be freed.