The Last Passover

Your house has lost its roof —
That which you thought had covered you
Has been lifted off

How do you like tonight?
The night's dark sky and rising Sirius,
His bright blue eye, his bite

You thought you'd fix the sanctum of the walls,
The sanctuary of a home
But you were homeless after all

The ancient Hebrew keepers of Jerusalem
Who thought the temple was their own —
It was not built for them

It was at most a nomad's tent,
For God himself is a wanderer
And with no human dwelling is content

And the house of the soul's guest —
That too will fall and blow away,
The lintel's blessing be unblessed

And the Angel smelling blood, not passing over
Will save the last unborn
After the last Passover

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