A Poem before the Sabbath

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.