Trapped in God’s dream,
I await creation.
His arms reach down to hand me three seeds
First – I plant the apple tree.
God cries, it rains,
I watch the tree grow and blossom.
I taste apples for the first time.
I plant the second seed, sit with it under the sun.
The smell of jasmine surrounds my body.
An angel appears – I am fighting an inevitable slumber.
She picks the flowers, just enough for a crown,
A crown for my sleepy head.
Awake once again, I bury my final gift in the soft dirt.
The third seed grows into a string of flowers:
I see purple for the first time.
“What now?” I ask God.
A roar travels down the mountains;
I feel a primal urge to run.
Branches scrape my knees.
I trip over a rock.
The moon has replaced the sun;
The night is cold and daunting.
I look up and ask for help;
He replies in thunder.
I seek refuge in a cave and feast on berries and mushrooms.
My head is heavy, my neck too weak to hold it up.
It falls, it falls, it falls-
Rolls down the hill and it
Hits God’s toes