Adam, the Day After
Yesterday, trees leaned together, conspiring,
and each falling leaf formed a double helix.
When the grass betrayed the wind's intention,
crickets cried and flowers bared their necks.
Now, rustling weedstalks call our names.
To answer would be to pray
but prayers belong to another world and time,
when what is near wasn't far away.
Still, in this new world, the sun sets
the field on fire. And you, you're on fire too,
even made of it, if only until dusk descends
like ashes, the final fruit
of our fall, and we begin the long wait
for torrents of sunlight, rays of rain.