When the Eyes Beg the Candle’s Gaze

The riches of kings, of witches,
of sullen painters lurk in warehouses
whose doors can be throw open
with the greatest of ease. What, then,
can we ask ourselves, each other,
the hoi polloi when the endless
discussion turns, as it always does,
to class warfare? We can bedeck
you in the latest finery, we can kiss
your pensive lips with the rubies
they have always wanted to be,
we can bathe you in gold
but does that make you any less
the son of a mechanic, the daughter
of the world’s mot famous gefilte
fish chef? We cannot ascertain
the radiance of your being before
you give us this one, greatest, gift:
you must open your eyes.