7 toward the Omer

malkhut shebchesed

I stop turning out and turning in.
I return. How long has it been?
It’s not the width of the bridge,
God says, it’s not taking on more
than it can bear. How, I say,
do I learn to measure that load
when I have already lost my bearings?
If these bonds are not the bonds
of life, God says, they aren’t mine.
I stop turning out and turning in.
My hips run straight as they wish,
a very narrow bridge unafraid between them.