I pick up the skirt,
I pick up the sparkling beads in black,this thing that moved oncearound flesh,and I call God a liar,
I say anything that movedlike thator knewmy namecould never diein the common verity of dying,and I pick up her lovelydress,all her loveliness gone,and I speak to all the gods,
Jewish gods,
Christ-gods,chips of blinking things,idols, pills, bread,fathoms, risks,knowledgeable surrender,rats in the gravy of two gone quite madwithout a chance,hummingbird knowledge, hummingbird chance,
I lean upon this,
I lean on all of thisand I knowher dress upon my armbutthey will notgive her back to me.
