I pick up the skirt,
I pick up the sparkling beads
in black,
this thing that moved once
around flesh,
and I call God a liar,
I say anything that moved
like that
or knew my name
could never die
in the common verity of dying,
and I pick-
up her lovely dress,
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 2 gone quite mad
without a chance,
hummingbird knowledge, hummingbird chance,
I lean upon this,
I lean on all of this and I know:
her dress upon my arm: but
they will not
give her back to me.
-For Jane: With All The Love I Had, Which Was Not Enough by Charles Bukowski