It is beyond me to make a sign unto it
I am without hands
And my mouth a clod.
Yet I turn with it endlessly through eons of stars.
It knows me and signs to me soundlessly
That stones
Feel the wheel’s crush and shout out
In another universe;
That the eagle grows small in the sky and his shrinkage
Flies large through other veils;
That the trapped mouse with a broken neck
Turns tail and scampers beyond time.
It is beyond me to make a sign unto it.
I am without hands
And my mouth a clod
Though my soul whimpers and strains with it.
