the laser brush we watched
burn soot off the gown
of an ancient kore
the Delphic light, sifted
through the nets of the gods
to fall on us
the molten remains, dark
and bitter, at the bottom of each
morning’s tiny cup
how, beside the piled fallen stones
of my grandfather’s home
in the mountain village,
my daughter and I kneeled on the grass,
reaching for one from the rubble,
something of him to carry home.