At the center of the table, Elijah's place is set.
He is served along with us although his food will not be touched.
His wine, however, seems to swell within the circle of its cup.

I look out the window.

Clouds slip silkily over the moon.
They're in the mood to play matzo cover,
Mistaking for matzo that old two-faced stone.

Who is young?  Who wants money?

O, matzo-ball moon, roll your pesadiche light on over to me.
I long to see you shine in my Elijah's naked eyes.
I've always been a sucker for love at first sight.

And why should this night be different?

On this night, my sweet one, I swan-dive like syrup
Deep into dangerous cups.
I open all doors—not wisely, but wide.

On this night, I forget to be wary.

The haze around the paschal moon is red.
Some drunk must have dunked the Afikoman.

On this night, I find I've been chosen.