blindness Jesus Christ has never worn glasses So as to keep His sight Out of the void. To be able to shield his eyes From the sands of the wilderness; He has never worn glasses And hasn’t seen myself On my beckoning to him About my intention to follow him: To go after him into the mirrors of sleeping Yielding and amazed and redeemed Like one of his apprentices. In my home, Jesus Christ has never stepped To ask for lodgings For a night at least; He has never got in For me to treat Him to a dinner And to hand in to him the chalice From which to drink his crucifixion to the lees. Jesus Christ has never worn glasses Otherwise He might as well have seen, Had He worn – My home with prison-like walls, The Street of the poets Fortuneless, deserted, obscure… The Street of the poets With en-spined white thorns From his wreath; The street of the poets With acacia trees blossoming in winter even, He might have seen (had he worn glasses) My friend’s dogs Which I us...