A Guide to the Asian Museums

Footbound beneath the owl kings,

princes of darkness and striding priests

who go before us, leading

the dead in their hempen shrouds,

we learned what our crowned,

uneasy fathers learned:

That to be strong you must crush

the darkness underfoot,

break the back of your enemy

and snarl,

raising a fist to the light:

That a stone axe under glass

holds its edge, its weight and purpose:

That a small green scarab,

placed in the grave,

was a better guide in life after death

than the code of the gospels.

As it was in the Prophet’s thronged

and holy city, sun-pillar

and moon-arch will be provided,

straw for the ox

and a tree for the serpent.

And a place at night for the lovers,

tumbled and ruddy with dust,

but who smile and hold each other,

who keep intact

their lesson in abiding passion.

From all our heaped arrangements

to comfort the dead

we have learned this much:

That the least of these fired images,

these flawed souvenirs—items

of rescue, of luck,

obedience and grace—outlast us.

That a single gray elephant,

the size of your thumb,

holds up the earth

with its forests and acres of stones.