Take in your hands my head and guide me; bind
roughly, impatiently, without reserve,
me to your side as you want me aligned.
If you will teach the shape of every curve,
I will emblazon on my hands and feet
each of your boundaries so I may serve.
Hack off my heels with slices sharp and neat.
Cut off my toes: fix anything you fix
so that the slipper fits; let me compete.
Malleable am I, a mass that kicks,
realizing its birth with shapeless cries,
trowels and mortar and a pile of bricks.
Tell me and show me, teach me to read your eyes,
give me your rules and others of their kind:
give them to me, and I will memorize.
Though it's my fault, forgive me: I am blind,
and I can never learn to read your mind.
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