Eden

The earth leans
and so do we,
resurrected memory
reciting its freefall
even while bedding
a word called new
in the tracks of neurons
laid for unborn years

and the crash is soft
--it’s almost mist--
a breathless exchange
of sound for silence
color for line
beginning for end
dream and dreamer
in a land undivided
like when lips
remind skin
of that fuse
in our bellies
jolting the
pale winter moth
into a
sinking,
spreading
butterfly

and I, too,
want to invite the
bee with its smart
little sting into
a wave of
these petals
where a
galaxy of honey
may be forgotten
til June
because a
big bang
breaks sweetest
from the
nectar
of your name
on the stickiness of
my tongue

And this is Eden
in a book by Matisse,
And this is spring
as painted by you
through me



[I wrote this poem for Cat's fun audio challenge
(final results to appear on Friday!). The
Matisse painting is titled, "The Joy of Life."]