THE GIVENS

Long passages of light and dark passed
before the breathing fell into place;

snake curled on a rock,
tail to mouth, the good lineation.

Lives began to move in their hides,
air swimming with the raucous,

initial flap of wings
as the upright arrived on strong haunches,

with a different sort of heart.
He would want to see himself everywhere,

in everything,
and indeed would go out looking. Companionship,

a generous voice called it. So the wide world went,
flashing mirrors at the risen human twins.

Later, clouds washed across the orchard.
The black ship doused in rain.

Lamentations of the two's rose from the bowels,
swallow wings aching for tree-to-tree existence.

Far past those animals who had to wait
and could not comprehend the terms of deluge,

comes our lot of snakes, their old circle broken,
reconstrued as city headlines:

VANLOAD OF SNAKES FOUND SMOTHERED.
Rectums sewn up, bellies stuffed with condoms

of cocaine.
Swelter of metal. The back alley heat.

But before that, someone had to look hard
in the light to thread a needle,

Then the quick stitch pulling each snake's
tiny puncture shut,

fingers forcing last rubbery meals
down living creatures' throats.

Bigtime city, full of humans in sunlight--
this planet we walk upon, a green sphere

where the tale began so naturally
with animals in the rain.

First published in Image: Journal of Arts and Religion