Reliquary

Reliquary

As I sweep into my hand
from the table’s edge,
the small sacrifices
you left for me,

I think about the saints
and their reliquaries.
Bits of bone
and parings,
faded cloth
and dusty splinters,
locked away in glass cases,
reflecting supplicants
kneeling in prayer.

Walking outside
under the dark heavens,
I release from my palm
the fragments of you
as the slender fingernail moon
rises brightly in the East.