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 two 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.