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Date Posted: 15:59:55 08/21/01 Tue
Author: zeebuzz
Author Host/IP: 63.14.129.25
Subject: Garden

In Eden memories
do not exist;
dreams are of dust
and of ribs robed in flesh.
There night is glass
fashioned from

God's crystal sea.
In Eden
amusement is a subtle device.
Sol himself is strange
where roots splay like mist
on stone,
where the sky rises
like yellow grass in a meadow,
veiled and insidious as smoke
rising in sculpted scrolls.

Adam tonsures his bride in Kerioth
she is wayward
bone of his bone.

A door of light stands at Eden's edge;
Adam remembers his wife
there at the edge of his soul
where
Eden stands
sublime as solitude
singing autumn's matins
under the firmament of stars
so cold, so fixed, so far away.

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