I saw the upright, the one with wolfish eyes
hungering behind a window.
“Let the Lord overtake,” she said,
“him who walks securely in pretense.
For my eyes have seen the secret moments,
the hidden glances, pauses; the tics of his eyebrows.
Look—I have collected the broken lines of his speech.
I have heard his quiet thoughts.
Deliver him, I pray,
to my insight’s prediction, unaided, unabated”
Gnawing her hands, her discernment was whetted.
And I, nibbling, stopped and looked away.
