Dare I stretch my foot to you?
Or, why not call a slave?
Lingering—your hands upon my feet—
I feel the trickle lick of water.
Kneeling? Here for me?
Every eye is gazing years at me.
With strokes like gentle, soft and strong
I feel you wash the silch away,
Surprising me how white my feet beneath;
Ennobling me to rise. And kneel. And serve.