Eyeless in Gaza

Blind Samson,

eyeless in Gaza,

sets one weary sandal

in front of the other.

Faith tells him,

proof-less as Yahweh,

he walks the holy straight,

from here to paradise.

His hair is long

but no strength lies

in wearing it so

far from Delilah’s shears.

He walked circles

grinding in the mill;

grinding slow,

grinding fine.

But in the cornfield,

the evidence is clear,

he walks a spiral,

until he spins:

a whirling scarecrow

fooled by God.