Eloi, Eloi

Eloi, Eloi

By

Caroline Liberatore

And then the rattling
Death, a coin tracing a circle
At once coming to rest.
What lies behind the silver
Moon—a slivered sun?
Or perhaps meerschaum
Haze, inaudible.

The hymn of today
Is the dirt-strewn ether.
The body wanes
Into crescent.

My God, my God of the wood panels,
And of the meerschaum, too—
Will you haunt me? Or will I ever be
Haunted by this vacancy?

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