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.