I met him on the empty cattle walk.
We knew that he had planned to go away.
I was surprised when he began to talk
To me with sorrow that he could not stay,
That he was going to Jerusalem
Where he would live and work on a kibbutz
and learn from people who would counsel him
To match religion with his politics.
Blue clouds assembled like cathedral domes.
The field would give a church its corner stone,
The farm a plot for tracts of showy homes,
And soon it would be hard to be alone.