Eloi, Eloi, Lama Sabachthani: Vol. XX: (after Frank Horne and LeRoi Jones)

. . . and my hands have held every piece we've owned.

Down, now, to the last of the wedding china, remembering
how taste and desire conjoined; our smiles at the green
trim; the lotus; the name sounding far
away. Calling like Japan, Africa.

We must have thought then: how small the children's hands,
how likely, how easily something so smooth and cool,
so charming and hefty will slide
through their fingertips.

We must have seen them: our girls at tea and play,
setting saucers in the middle of the air, going
all giddy all giggly to hear the crashing
one note clinking music.

Then now, holding the last remaining and wrapping it—
like fish between newsprint book reviews and travel
guides. At something like god's command,
we move. We up and go.