Enter Ye into My Rest

When you go so far 
it is hard 
to turn your head around 
and see 
where you’ve been. 

Much less make your shoes 
(who saw the hole in your sock?) 
pause over freshly plowed 
and carefully prepared ground 
beckoning for your step. 

Unless, have you noticed, 
the gate lies ahead; 
the constriction, 
with no view beyond 
and uncertain warm winds 
blowing from the garden at your back. 

Then to turn aside, to rest, 
to turn away the ear 
from the delicate whisper 
is a blind delight 
equaled only 
by the embrace of chains.