Don't Look at Me so Hard

Grow out your hair.
Don't look at me so hard.
Do not argue that the head must be covered with a covering,
You man.
You have hair, I s'pose.
Can't really tell though; so
Grow it.
You won't be unclean.
You won't be cut off
from my congregation.
Your hair won't defile
my sanctuary.
It will purify it,
make it ferally innocent.
If you grow it, I'll try to touch
every disparate strand.
I'll feel the breadth of all of
those myriads of longer hairs.
And that touch will be holy -
insofar that your hair overshadows
my ignorance.
If it parts itself and then parts truth.
Oh say can I see your eyes if I can then your hair's too short.
I can't see.