He acts, in splendor and in darkness,
in the roar of waterfalls and in the silence of sleep,
but not as your well-protected shepherds
would have it. He looks for the longest line,
the road so circuitous
it is barely visible, and fades away
in suffering. Only blind men, only
owls feel sometimes its dwindling trace
under their eyelids.
Sign up for the Mockingbird Newsletter
Yes, exactly.
Thank you, DZ.