It is a tangled knot Strings woven within and around one another. A thread of blue runs through Techelet, the color of the sky To remind us of the heavens To remind us of the commandments A white thread, And a thread of crimson. A cat bats around the strings Playing them around one another Tangling the strands Choking hope for her own amusement. With one slash of a claw She could, at any moment, Snap any or all of them apart. I gingerly pull one loose end and the knot tightens. What have I done? If only I could pull it out just so Without breaking, releasing the binding And the threads would be seen for what they are Not one hard knot But singular stories.