A Purchase of Porcelain

　　Because the king

　　decrees that every Jew

　　must buy his wedding-right

　　in unsold porcelain

　　from the royal chinaworks，

　　here he stands， an amorous Jew，

　　gazing at luminous

　　suns and moons arrayed

　　on doths of velvet-blue，

　　earth that has married fire twice，

　　that has been shaped and named

　　for what it comprehends： sherbets， salads，

　　gravies， desserts. He lifts a platter fine

　　as alabaster in cathedral windows：

　　salvation， the passage of light

　　through bone. Ah， but

　　not for you， the store-man says.

　　Closeted， in shipping crates

　　are pieces no one else will buy

　　baboon fops in feathered caps，

　　chimpanzees in petticoats.

　　Visitors will later testify，

　　his home was comfortable，

　　despite the china apes

　　peering from every corner.