“. . . and I did eat.”
The garden ripened,
softness into toughness,
the drowsing seed into the dropping fruit.
Knowledge brought hardness,
sight showed the blatant contours of the world,
its balancing in an instant of space,
my blurred bemusement in it gone,
and circling everything the melancholic stain
like a hinge-jawed shining snake.
It was never innocence, it was greenness,
and it was not a fall, it was a purging of the eyes.
Decision watered the earth,
desire loamed it
and the fruit was in my hand.
Can I ask to be restored to that unfocused spot,
to be cradled in hugeness as if it were clarity?
I am larger than it now.
My own heart wields the flaming sword
I will not cross.