Louvre, September 2010
Glass erupts out of stone as I’m walking,
following Edith’s red turban skimming across cobblestones,
see Thursday’s half-moon caught in a cage.
What I didn’t know: the best light in Paris
I am ready to worship with moles.
I slip wafers of glass under my tongue,
carry it with me—light,
and the silver hippo tooth,
the star the last king of France ate
before they cut off his head
to display it,
the scarab beetle,
hash marks on its belly
spelling out a secret name for god.