DOT... LETTER... WORD...
Everything fit together, there
Had never been free will, everything
Flowed into a channel, when it was there,
Free will, you might say, was the clamoring
Out of the dark. And what did it mean?
There must be a series of roads that rise
To a lookout point. I struggle to find
The laws, and trace the fireflies.
Yaacov David Shulman