it is the lamb, of course,
the way it is no longer living
the way the dim light falls
on my greased hands coated
as if with the family’s blessed oil
it is the way the lamb was slain
the way I cannot imagine it living
the way I cannot imagine it living again
it is the way I eat until it’s gone
the way I will hunger sometime soon
when, I do not know, but always again
again it is the lamb, of course, it is
always how it is dead in the way I will die
the way I remember this as I take, eat