FOR ALL WE KNOW THIS IS PARADISE
what if apples were still apples,
snakes still snakes, and we are
all still living in paradise; what if
eve is in the summer of her years,
running with the antelope, thighs
supple and alert, her face tan;
what if no nobody has had to
crawl on their belly on account
of some fairy tale crime; adam
lies blameless in a grove of
ripe pears, admiring eve’s gait,
admiring how evening light arrives
in eden on hushed wings to remind
him of love’s caresses; no temptation
no shame, just a curious bird, singing in
sweet ellipses, singing with the trees,
a song with no words, about god and
summer and sunlight in waterfalls;
a simple song, about how perfectly
a pear fits in adam’s hand, equally
perfect in eve’s hand too; and how
generously its juices spill onto
his chin and hands and chest,
(almost as if it was by design),
singing how we are all of us
two halves of a single fruit
hanging from a paradise tree
5.9.21